Parable of the Eagle
by Angst and Cliffhangers
Summary: Saiyan Videl--like you never seen her before. Gh-Vi from the authors of 'It's A Start' and 'Veritas' - REVIEW SPECIAL UPLOADED
1. Prologue : Eagle

**MOVED! Hehe, now this fic will continue under this pen name : Angst and Cliffhangers******

**Angst and Cliffhangers is a joint account for Psycho Ann and Sage, go see bio for details.******

**Previous notes from Psycho Ann :**

First off, I know you're all thinking. "Why is she putting out _yet_ another fic before she finishes her others?!" I have no other answer then it's all ShaggyDiz's and Sage's fault ::points a finger--no, not _that_ finger::. Shaggy (userid=33586) has this gift of inspiring me at the oddest of times, and so the premises for this fic is credited to him. Then came Sage (userid=191602); well, she, the Goddess Queen of Angst, has an extraordinary gift of writing--especially for angst, as you may all recall her infamous "Dark Shift". 

I was influenced by her evil ways and sought training from her. After some time, my evil branched off into a different path. Hers, the path of angst. Mine, the path of cliffhangers. We waged war on each other, attacking with merciless cliffhangers and heart-wretching angst. We also got pretty good in writing dramatic war themes for our e-mails. 

Then, in one of our e-mails I asked her to write a first person POV of one of the characters for later on in this fic. I loved it. It was... _wow_. So, I forc--er, _convinced_, her to co-write with me. And she agreed! (Upon fear of me threatening her with evil cliffhangers from P&P and Veritas) So here we are: Psycho Ann, Supreme Matriarch of Cliffhangers, paired with Sage, Goddess Queen of Angst. 

You people better hold on, it's gonna be a bumpy ride. 

Disclaimer : DBZ is not ours, aren't you glad? If it was, Gohan and Videl would hate each other, fall in love, then be separated for eternity. 

"Parable of the Eagle" was written by James Aggrey in the early 1920's. 

* * *

  
  
  
  
  
  


Angst and Cliffhangers present....   
  
  
  
  
  
  


An Evil Authoresses Production....   
  
  
  
  
  


Parable of the Eagle 

  
  
  
  
  
  


A certain man went through the forest seeking any bird of interest he might find. He caught a young eagle, brought it home, and put it among his fowls and ducks and turkeys and gave it chicken's food to eat even though it was an eagle, the king of birds. 

Five years later a naturalist came to see him and, after passing through his garden, said, "That bird is an eagle, not a chicken." 

"Yes," said the owner. "But I have trained it to be a chicken. It is no longer an eagle. It is a chicken, even though it measures fifteen feet from tip to tip of its wings." 

"No," said the naturalist. "It is an eagle still; it has the heart of an eagle, and I will make it soar high up to the heavens." 

"No," said the owner. "It is a chicken, and it will never fly." 

They agreed to test it. The naturalist picked up the eagle and said to it, "Thou dost belong to the sky and not to this earth; stretch forth thy wings and fly." The eagle turned this way and that and then, looking down, saw the chickens eating their food, and down he jumped. 

The owner said, "I told you it was a chicken." 

"No," said the naturalist. "It is an eagle. Give it another chance tomorrow." 

So the next day he took it to the top of the house and said, "Eagle, thou art an eagle; stretch forth thy wings and fly." But again with the eagle, seeing the chickens feeding, jumped down and fed with them. 

The the owner said, "I told you it was a chicken." 

"No," asserted the naturalist. "It is an eagle, and it still has the heart of an eagle. Only give it one more chance, and I will make it fly tomorrow." 

The next morning he rose early and took the eagle outside the city, away from the houses to the foot of a high mountain. The sun was just rising, gliding the top of the mountain with gold, and every crag was glistening in the joy of that beautiful morning. 

He picked up the eagle and said to it, "Eagle, thou art an eagle. Thou dost belong to the sky and not to this earth. Stretch forth thy wings and fly." The eagle looked around and trembled as if new life were coming to it. But it did not fly. The naturalist then then made it look straight at the sun. Suddenly it stretched out its wings and, with the screech of an eagle, flew. 

* * *

However, if it was a chicken raised as an eagle, would it ever want to return to the ground? 

* * *

Ann : Yes. That's it for now. Evil, huh? What did you expect? 

*cough* 

Anyway, this is just an "announcement" of sort; the fic itself is still in the rough making. All complaints should be sent to Sage (userid=191602) via reviewing her fic "It's A Start" and demanding why she hasn't updated it yet. You see, if she writes it quickly, she could then write more for _this_ fic. Although, the same goes for me but *cough cough* let's all pretend we don't know that, shall we? *cough hack wheeze* 

Btw, for those that don't know, Veritas chapter 6 complete was already uploaded. Which is why I suggest you join the mailing list to get first wind and _exclusive _Gh/Vi fanart too! Unless you're willing to pay PsYChO $9.99 including S&H for it along with a preview of ShaggyDiz's "Parallel and Perpendicular"...... 


	2. A Long Year

Disclaimer : For all the evilness in the world, all the tears shed from angst, all the moans of despair from cliffhangers—DBZ does not belong to us. 

* * *

  
Angst and Cliffhangers present…   


An Evil Authoresses Production....   


**Parable of the Eagle**

Chapter 1   


* * *

  
Tall buildings shadowed overhead, hover cars noisily speeding along the invisible air-way "road". The heart of West City was bustling with activity; everyone was going somewhere, doing something. These pitiful humans. Although, even if they were weak and inferior—they had somewhere to go, something to do. Regal features hardened into a scowl, rigid steps becoming choppier though they still held the fluid grace of a warrior. 

He didn't know where he was going—or what he's going to _do_. Just for the meantime though—since his overall goals were still set in stone. He needed to train, to achieve the Legendary. It was close; he could feel the power just barely brushing his fingers. But, did he have the time? It'd been two and a half years since the warning about the androids. He needed to train— 

_"I turned off the Gravity Chamber, Vegeta. It's just for _one_ day!!"_

_ "Woman, I do not have time for your petty games, tu-"_

_ "I will NOT turn it back on until you see your SON!"_

An explosion of dust and brick startled bystanders as they spun with wide eyes towards the source. What they saw puzzled them; the corner of the old-fashioned red brick Red Dice Restaurant appeared to have been hit with a sledge-hammer. Or a truck. The people of West City blinked and looked around and at each other, the majority musing out loud on what could have caused the damage. None of them noticed the flame-haired man who was dressed in a simple black button-down shirt and khaki pants disappear into the back alleys. 

"Shit…" he muttered, absently dusting off the red dust from his knuckles. This was all the woman's fault—his _son's_ fault. He was always composed, in complete control… 'Til _them_. The idea of that infuriating woman inhibiting his precious training time was absurd, and just because he had no desire whatsoever to see his new-born son. 

Trunks. 

That's what she called him. Born just a mere 6 hours ago. 

_"Bah, what use is it if I look at the brat anyway? It's not like he'll know I'm there. It's not like I _wanted_ him."_

Damn that woman. He couldn't even get a decent way of blowing off steam without her participating. She didn't slap him, yell at him, or even frown. Just gave him one of her "understanding" smiles before sighing dramatically. Just like that without even bothering to yell back—like she usually would.__

_ "Oh, whatever, Vegeta. Just know that I'll turn the chamber back on once I see you _once_ by his crib. Now, shoo! I need my rest!"_

He was beyond angry—why, he could have turned into the Legendary right there! How _dare_ she order him around like that!? Didn't she realize how easy it was for him to kill her and the brat? He didn't even need to raise his arms! A simple _kiai_ would have splattered the woman flat against the walls. 

What was he thinking? _Of course she knew_. 

But she also knew even more that he could never bring himself to raise a finger against them. 

And so, he had stormed out of the Capsule Corps grounds and _walked_. Interestingly enough, he was so angry, so _frustrated_, that he didn't even feel like destroying something. He just wanted to get away from _her_, _her_ blasted parents, and _her_ newborn brat. 

"Damn woman...." he once again muttered, stomping through the winding alleys in no particular destination. A sudden scuffle of feet alerted him and he turned his head towards a small passage, his curiosity piqued. After all, maybe a street brawl would give him a good laugh. 

His eyebrow rose when he took a couple more steps towards the source, giving him a clear view of the scene. Street kids, punks, dirty teens, whatever they were, surrounded a much smaller figure. There were a dozen of them, scrawny yet sinister looking, cracking knuckles and smirking. The much smaller figure was visibly the dirtiest, mud soaked rags upon a wiry body with a mess of matted hair upon a head. It was the eyes and expression of the boy that caught his attention. 

"Give it up, _kid_," one of the tallest boys sneered, "this is _our_ turf, visitors aren't allowed unless they pay _rent_." A couple of guffaws were passed around to the joke. "And you've been here for days without us knowing; do you know we charge interest?" 

The supposed leader was answered with a cold smirk. The small boy merely stood there, his arms crossed without a trace of fear. The group that surrounded him noticed his lack of "respect" and scowled loudly. "You little shit! We're going to wipe that smirk off your face!!" 

It was probably from the way the boy's smirk widened into an excited grin that Vegeta knew the larger teens were going to lose—badly. He was even mildly amused to see that the small boy didn't just trade blows and kicks as the punks did, but _fought_. A balanced kick, deliberate blows—the child clearly knew martial arts. 

The kid effortlessly dodged the first fist and spun out of the way of another. One then came with a full frontal tackle to which the boy easily met head on with a knee under the chin, breaking a few teeth with a loud crack. Using the falling body as a stepping stone, he immediately sent a flying kick to another coming up from the front, successfully getting a devastating hit to the neck. Realizing two of their comrades were already down, the rest of the teens renewed their assault with angry cries. It was surprisingly quick how the boy defeated them, no unnecessary moves wasted. 

Soon, he and the boy were the only ones standing, moans and groans coming from few of the not-unconscious-enough punks echoing in the alleyway. It was the manner the boy stood, eyeing his defeated opponents with a patronizing smirk, which made it appear as if he would raise his fingers the next moment and blast their bodies into ashes. Just like how _he_ would do. 

He flashed on a memory from long ago—not suppressed, necessarily, but forgotten, buried under the new memories which had flooded his life in recent years. The old times were just that: old. He'd lost them to the mists of time passage. Hesaw himself, no older than this child before him, surrounded by bodies as the boy was. But while this child's victims still lived, still breathed, each and every one of his were all dead—some by blasts, some by severed heads or other limbs—but all dead. 

_It had been pounded into his mind and body for years never to leave living victims on the raids. They would all be killed eventually, may as well make the death quick and go ahead and get it over with._

_ But Vegeta, never loath to admit it, killed for the pure pleasure of it. He got a grim satisfaction from a "job well done"—that is, one successfully carried out fully. He looked down at the tiny hands, his hands, and saw how stained with blood they were._

_ An elder Saiyan, sent to accompany him on the mission, looked down at him and smiled, then passed the young prince a pair of white gloves._

_ "They will never stain, your Majesty—you may now hunt without worry of being marked."_

It was too easy for Vegeta to see himself at that age, to see the bodies of alien races strewn about in pieces at his feet. Seeing himself reduce the remains to ashes just because he _could_. The boy's expression mirrored his perfectly; Vegeta could almost hear what the boy was thinking. _Weaklings. Pathetic fools._

"Why don't you kill them?" 

His voice startled _both_ of them, not expecting to say the words out loud. The boy snapped his eyes up to Vegeta and immediately narrowed, alert and cautious. The dirt and grime smeared across the boy's otherwise fair skinned face contrasted sharply with deep blue orbs. A blue darker—colder—than the blue of the woman that danced with life. 

Silence stretched between them before the boy spoken with a curiously high pitched voice, "They aren't worth getting my hands dirty." 

Vegeta laughed. He even noticed the boy's small grin from understanding just what was so laughable about the statement. The boy's hands were already filthy, blackened nails with dirt that lined into every crack. Spots that were lighter than others, particularly around the knuckles, attested to the fact that the boy's hands were actually _cleaner_ after "wiping" them off on the bodies of the older kids. 

Vegeta stopped his laughter before beckoning the child over with a sharp tilt of his head. "Come here brat." 

"Why should I?" 

"Because I said so and you have nothing else better to do." 

The boy frowned but complied to Vegeta's orders none the less, approaching him with guarded steps, his blue eyes staring intently into black, watching the man's every move. Vegeta smirked at the boy's actions, unknowingly comparing it to his own behavior at the same age. The kid stopped just out of attack range in the minimal safe distance if Vegeta was to lash out. 

"…So?" The boy inquired, glaring faintly with curiosity. 

"Where did you learn to fight?" 

A flash of pain in the boy's eyes was gone before Vegeta could properly identify the emotion. "I was taught." 

"By?" 

"My father." Vegeta didn't say anything but just gave the boy a hard look. "He's dead," continued the boy curtly, answering Vegeta's unspoken question. 

Interesting. Very interesting. Here was a child that somehow _clicked_ with him, a child that was able to catch his interest the moment Vegeta laid eyes on him. Not even all those years with Nappa and Raditz were the two fools able to ever appear as… _compatible _as this small child did then. Maybe because the boy reminded Vegeta of himself so much that it was taking on a surreal edge. 

What if…. 

He was insane; the sudden idea that came then to him was ludicrous, uncharacteristic of him. Vegeta didn't even know what suddenly gave him the thought. However, one last question would make him decide. It all depended just how similar the boy was to him. How the boy would answer. 

"What do you want more than anything else now?" 

Thin eyebrows furrowed before lowering into a determined frown. "Power," the boy grounded out firmly, "I want _power_." 

And that simple, _correct_, answer made Vegeta smile darkly. "What are you willing to risk?" 

"My life. My pride. Not that I have anything else left." 

"To gain it, are you willing to face unimaginable pain? So much that all you'll be thinking about would be the pain itself?" 

No hesitation. "Yes." 

Vegeta held out a hand. "Come with me. And you'll have what you want." 

Moments passed by before a small dirty hand reached up to his.   


* * *

The boy was making little noises and grunts, obviously amazed at the height. Or more likely it was because of the speed. Vegeta kept his face passive and continued on, his right hand roughly clamped on the back of the boy's slender neck—like one would do when holding a kitten. 

  
The Saiyan's white ki pulsated around them, providing little protection against the sharp sting of winds. The boy didn't protest though, even when he could hardly lift his arms to shield his face. _Good boy_, Vegeta mentally chuckled with more grim amusement than satisfaction. The last thing Vegeta needed was a whiny screamer. 

They headed southeast to a place Vegeta calculated might be the best location to…_evaluate_ the boy further. Five minutes into the flight Vegeta's eyes rebelled against his will and swiveled downwards, hawk-like vision able to discern the rocky landscape with grudging familiarity. The cracks and craters were already covered with greenery—though the more damaged spots remained bare. Ki scorched marks still marred these places, a testament to a battle fought years ago. For Vegeta, it was a battle lost. 

His eyes even picked two unnaturally smooth rock formations—both that appeared to have half of them both sliced off cleanly. It was—ki sliced—and the memory _after_ the failed attempt by the short monk was one Vegeta would scowl at even in his sleep. He had to grudgingly admit though; the mistake was his own, no matter how much it was a blow to his pride. 

Ignoring the unwelcome memories that came with the scenery, Vegeta poured more speed into the flight, rendering his passenger even more helpless than before. Still, the boy remained silent save for the occasional grunt if Vegeta's hand tightened too much to keep the boy in his grasp. It was fortunate that the next minute or so was the end of the flight. 

Vegeta landed smoothly and all but carelessly dropped the boy unto the grass. The pleasant plateau was green and teeming with life. A small lake shimmered in the afternoon sun to their right; frogs, birds, insects, and fish creating ripples according to their own agendas. The landscape was covered with towering rock formations that were riddled with a dozen or so caves, firmly held together by roots from various fruit trees. 

The Saiyan gave a disgusted snort as the child doubled over and vomited—no doubt because of the journey. His black eyes then slowly scanned all about, gathering enough clues from the surroundings to discern that the area they were in was indeed where the Namek had brought Kakarrot's son to. Deep trenches that still held telltale traces of the half-breed's ki were present even after all the years. 

"Brat, come here," commanded Vegeta after the boy had washed out the sour taste from his mouth at the lake. 

Once near enough for a polite conversation, the boy voiced his bewilderment. "H-how—you… You _flew_…" the words rolled off the boy's tongue as if the boy was still trying to convince himself. Vegeta hadn't really given him time to prepare, letting the boy follow him to somewhere quiet before grabbing hold of the child and blasting off. 

"That is not important now. See it as—a _preview_ of what I can teach you. Of what powers you can gain." 

Blue eyes snapped open and it was then Vegeta caught glimpse of both anticipation and disbelief burning inside. "Really? I could—_fly_?" 

Vegeta smirked and held out a finger to a nearby towering boulder. "You can't possibly start to imagine, child," he whispered lowly, "of the _power_." And with that, a beam of blue light rocketed from his fingers to collide with the boulder head on. The explosion was deafening and the boy was thrown a few feet back, unable to stand up from the aftershock. The dust settled and all that was left was a smoldering hole. He openly gaped before slowly getting back on his feet. 

"If you wish to posses even a fraction of this power, you must first prove your worth." 

Turning his head slowly towards Vegeta, the boy just nodded in determination. For a moment, Vegeta genuinely wondered just why the boy was so calm, so composed. Hardly a child his age—whatever his age was—could ever be so unruffled faced with things unseen from that planet. Accepting, like a sponge—would Vegeta's every word and action be soaked up as easily? 

For the boy's own sake, it had better. 

"I'm going to leave you here—," the child's eye widened fractionally,"—for about a year. Or for whatever length I desire. If you're still alive when I return, I will teach you the ways of a warrior race—_my_ ways." 

It was a brilliant plan if Vegeta would say so himself. He had no time to waste with the boy now, not with the Super Saiyan level so close and the androids to worry about later. Leaving the boy here—a place even Kakarrot's son could survive—would both be basic training and a test to see if the boy possessed even a shred of Saiyan talent. Gohan, Kakarrot's half-breed son, was years younger than this boy when he was here—surely the human child could manage surviving in the wilderness where a four year old half-breed could. Of course, Vegeta didn't know that Gohan was considerably helped by being given a sword by Piccolo. The boy in front of Vegeta then had nothing but the rags on his little body. 

"… How can I be so sure you'll pick me up later?" 

Vegeta nearly chuckled at the boy's question. The boy seemed pretty confident he would survive. The terms on his side wasn't questionable; it was the terms on Vegeta's side. "First rule, brat. _Never_ question me," he pressed darkly, hiding his amusement. 

The boy was taken aback by Vegeta's scowl, a small trace of fear visible in the boy's stance. After a moment, he nodded curtly, "Yes, Mr.…?" 

"Vegeta," the man supplied, floating back up in the air. He was about to blast off when he remembered he hadn't gotten the boy's name. "Boy!" Vegeta called out, "What's your name?" 

The boy gave him a peculiar stare before answering. "It's actually _girl_." 

Vegeta's left eyebrow rose ever so subtly. The boy was female? That would explain the high-pitched voice and small frame. He—she was simply too dirty; whatever feminine features present were covered in dirt or hidden by filthy rags. Almost immediately Vegeta wanted to call off his spur of the moment plan, but ditched the idea. It would be interesting to see how the _girl_ would fare. Vegeta smirked and flew off, barely catching her next words. 

"And my name," the blue-eyed girl continued, "is Videl."   


* * *

  
Sage's Notes: YES—fear the evil cliffhanger! Hey, Ann's one of the authors, what did you expect? Well, it's just getting cranking, so hold onto your hats people 'cause it's gonna be a bumpy ride. As this is the first author's notes section at the end of the first _real_ chapter, I feel something special should be done…I know! How about I get chapter 13 of "It's a Start" out? Oh, wait, I uploaded that last night… dangit. Ok, How about I just write some more angsty stuff for this next chapter? Sounds good to me. 

Ann's Notes: Trust me people, whatever you think is going to happen—it's going to happen in a way you'd _never_ expect. And tears _will _flow, Sage's evil writing and my evil ideas would make you _WEEP_. Anyway, hooraaahh!! First chapter out! As yes, and you might notice the "Evil Counter" at the end of this page. It's a counter for how many "evil" remarks we get in the reviews, huahahaha, hopefully Evil Counter-chan won't explode after just a few chapters! More angsty stuff in the next chapter, yep, yep, sounds _very_ good to me. (Can you tell where my writing ends and hers start? And where hers end and mine start? ::evil grin::: ) 

**Evil Counter :** **1** (we actually got a "evil" remark for the prologue. It was in the 10 reviews lost when we uploaded the fic under this joint account) 


	3. All Wrong

Disclaimer: See angst. See angst run. See angst run wild in this fic. See Akira Toriyama shaking his head, sighing at what we're doing with his series, since it _is_ his and not ours. 

* * *

Angst and Cliffhangers present…   


An Evil Authoresses Production....   


**Parable of the Eagle**

_Chapter 2: All Wrong_ __

* * *

It was a disaster. Utterly, totally, beyond comprehension, and he had been witness to it all. 

Vegeta floated silently above the huge bowl in the earth, wondering just how it could be possible for everything to seem so peaceful when just minutes ago the battle for universal survival took place. He wasn't sure exactly when everything went wrong. It could be when he let Cell become perfect, or when Kuririn refused to detonate the cyborg. Heck, maybe it all went wrong when Kakarrot was sent to earth. 

However, for sure, it all went _horribly_ wrong when the idiot Kakarrot miscalculated his son's resolve to fight. 

But the fact that his fate had even been placed in the boy's tiny hands in the first place was wrong as well. How—_how_ had it come to this, and when? Somewhere along the way he had slipped from his high pedestal, been sent plummeting down into the depths of normalcy when he should have been raised to the highest peaks of perfection. But struggle as he might to pinpoint the exact location of his failing, he could not. Perhaps, he mused bitterly, it was because his whole life had been one giant mistake. Perhaps every move he'd made had been a wrong one, every choice incorrect. 

For what other reason was there as an explanation for the fiasco that his life had become? Everywhere there was something being shoved in his face, sneering at him. Kakarrot being first to achieve the legendary status of super Saiyan, his _son_ achieving it too, and the boy defeating the creature who could've crushed Vegeta under his heel. All the while he had failed in every aspect of his life. No matter how hard he trained, how much work and effort he put into gaining more and more power—even achieving the Legendary so that he might once again stand before Kakarrot _knowing_ he was the better of the two—it was all for _nothing_. None of it mattered now. 

Trunks was dead. But not for long, that didn't matter. 

Kakarrot was dead. Now _that_ was a problem, _that_ mattered. 

Vegeta had achieved Super Saiyan only to be defeated in power by his enemy's _son_. And now the fool was dead—he would never get the chance to redeem himself. To take back his lost pride in a triumphant show that _yes_, the Saiyan Prince _was_ the strongest Saiyan of all. That he had finally become the most powerful; these Earthlings' greatest threat. 

Instead, the greatest threat had come in the form of an oversized cockroach. 

* * *

"Stop…" Gohan choked out, tears dripping down his chin but unmercifully his vision remained clear. "S-stop it—stop..." 

They didn't. Cell watched in perverse amusement as a hard chop from Cell Junior number 5 broke Yamcha's arm cleanly with a loud crack. A second crack soon followed after, rendering the scarred fighter unconscious from the pain and heavy blows. Even the strongest left—Vegeta and Trunks—were starting to lose ground; taking upon more damage with every passing second. 

"Stop…" again came Gohan's broken whisper. He could only watch in wide-eyed horror as he trembled on the dusty ground. No one could be brought back to life except Trunks. If anyone died—it would be for good. Forever. Forever his fault. 

His fault that he's not strong enough. 

His fault that he couldn't find this power. 

His fault. 

Kuririn went down, as did Tenshinhan, and Cell laughed loudly at the deplorable show. Gohan's cloudy jade gaze left the torture scene to quickly glance at the android. This—this—_monster_ had the gall to laugh at the pain of his friends. To cause the pain of his friends. Why—why did Cell want to make him mad? 

Why can't they just all stop? Fighting would just breed more fighting—until one of them was dead. Gohan certainly wouldn't want to die; for his own and for the universe's sake. But, why would killing Cell be necessary? Why did Cell want to fight so badly? He told Cell he couldn't control himself—he hated that feeling, to not be in control. 

But the way things were looking, Gohan started to wish for that loss of control. Oh Kami, the human fighters were already down. His father—no, please, his _father_. Lying there on the ground—beaten, bloody, even the proud golden mane of Super Saiyan dusty and matted with blood. An invincible fighter like his father, Son Goku, always there to be the one standing, now there helpless—no. Stop, please._ Please_ _s-stop_. 

Gohan completely missed the smirk on Cell's face. 

"That's enough play, Cell Juniors! Kill them when you feel like it." 

Nothing could prepare Gohan for what happened next—not even the horrors of Freeza. Because this time, it was _his_ entire fault. Gohan's natural reflex was to desperately search out his father's form. In doing so, his eyes instantly focused on the Cell Junior whose arm was poised back in a killing blow while shooting at Goku's prone figure. 

Gohan was already in a half move to phase over—though he knew no speed of his could ever reach his father in time. But he had to—to—to do something. _Anything_. He wanted to scream, to be the one lying on the earth without strength to even resist the deathblow—why can't he be the one on the sidelines? Watching his father defeat Cell—why? 

Kami, daddy I'm so sorry. I—please, I don't want you to go—please—anyone… _PLEASE_!! 

Someone answered, but not in the way Gohan would ever wish for. 

Luck. It was sinister luck that saved his father's life—at the cost of another. It took Gohan a while to register the figure impaled on the Cell Junior's arm; flung there by accident in a miscalculated throw from another Cell Junior. 

Tenshinhan. 

Then, before Gohan could even gather the breath to scream, something fell out of the sky to roll to his feet. He didn't want to look down—he really didn't—the smell of blood pretty much confirming what it was. However, he needed to know—Kami knew he didn't want to—who it belonged to. But why should he? He didn't really need to know. Oh Kami, he shouldn't look, but…. He looked down. 

It was Yamcha's head. 

The anguished scream ripped through the plains, bringing an abrupt halt to everything and everyone. The ki that burst forth from Gohan was like a solid hot wall—akin to getting punched in the face for those that could sense ki. Gohan kept on screaming, needing something—needing release. 

Dead. They were dead. Unable to come back. Killed by this monster, this bastard that—that— 

He was going to kill Cell. Not defeat, not subdue—kill. Kill him a thousand times over. Rip him to pieces, crush him into pulp, listen to him scream, and scream, and scream. Force him to watch the flesh melt from his bones; force him to eat his own limbs. Killing him slowly, painfully, over and overwithoutmercywithoutremorsejustwatchinghimdiediedie— 

Cell was going to die. 

* * *

First to go were the little ones—the little demons sent by their master to goad him on. Well, their mission was accomplished, so now they had to go. 

And go they did—quite violently too. Gohan wasted no time in dispatching Cell's minions, vaporizing them in the blink of an eye, seemingly effortlessly; he wanted to save all the fun for the android himself, the Juniors were nothing. And when he'd stopped they _were_ literally nothing, save a fine dust blown about in the wind. 

But now it was time to address the task at hand: revenge. For Yamcha, whose head lay some twenty feet away from the rest of his body. For Tenshinhan, who lay sprawled out in an unnatural position, belly to the sky exposing the hole made by an arm skewered through his chest. But perhaps most of all for his father, whom he would hurt more than any others that day as he watched his only son slip into the depths of darkness this monster had pushed him to, as the boy became a monster himself. 

_ 'Sorry Daddy…He made me do it…'_ Cold empty blue-green eyes turned from the carnage behind him to face the android before him, towering a full five feet over the boy's under-developed form. Had anyone outside of their circle looked on, they would have seen him physically as the child he should have been: small, wary in his stride, and looking quite out-of-place in the middle of a canyon before what appeared to be a giant green cockroach. But they would've been blind had they seen that. 

No one on the battlefield could miss the new maturity and determination shining through his eyes—focused solely on Cell. Slowly he walked forward, still keeping a constant pace. He wasn't hesitating in the least, merely taking his time, and the smirk faded from Cell's face: finally the boy was coming around to his senses! Perhaps he'd get a decent fight after all. Making a mental note of what seemed to raise these Saiyans' ire the most, Cell slid into a fighting stance, patiently waiting for his opponent to make the first move. 

What a fool he was for that. 

No amount of data, no amount of genetic engineering, no amount of technical marvel could prepare the android for what he was now facing. The boy literally _blurred_ from view, right before him—his ki signature blipping into nothingness at the same time. He was simply _gone_, from sight, from sense, and this actually sent a shiver of worry down the android's lab-grown spine. 

He was gone. And then he was _there_. Right in front of him—or more accurately, right _through_ him as evident by the short arm protruding from Cell's back, muscles rippling, taut, sending a spray of multi-hued blood and other bodily fluids out from the wound. The boy's face was there too, a hair's width from his own, and he frowned no more. No, now he was wearing the same thrilled smirk the android himself had been wearing mere moments ago. 

Cell barely had time to register the pain of the attack which had arrived with quicksilver celerity before the child was all over him. Punches, kicks, blasts—they all tore through him mercilessly, one right after another, leaving him zero time to formulate a counter-attack. Each new onslaught carried rage and fury he hadn't calculated in the boy, wiping all plans from the bio-engineered mind. Unable to fly away, unable to stay and fight—he was far too slow to respond, he realized—by the time one blow had even registered and he was gearing up to retaliate, _another_ was already connecting. The boy—the boy was _strong_. 

Perhaps he'd underestimated him, _over_estimated himself—could it be? Desperately he reached for power, frantic, panicked—_there must be more there must be more there must be more_. 

He might be composed of the best of the best—but this Saiyan—this _Gohan_ virtually negated any advantage he might have had. _'Impossible…'_ echoed somewhere in his mind. It made no sense! He should be winning right now, not losing fantastically—it was all wrong! Gero had created him, had made him _perfect_. And yet still he was losing. 

He accredited it to the recent ejection of the android female, reducing him to a _less_ perfect form—the stupid child, one too many blows to his abdomen, and the android simply known as "Juuhachigou" had come shooting out. He could only look on in horror as his strength was mocked, the boy's malignant smile widening over a scarred and bloodied face. _It was all wrong_… 

Though he didn't know it, his opponent was also making the same argument in his own head, helplessly looking on as his body was flooded with Saiyan rage, his power unleashed. He'd tried to warn them, _tried_ to make them see—couldn't they understand? No, of _course_ they couldn't—for they were them, and he was himself. None could comprehend what he was going through, not even his own father—but perhaps Cell was beginning to understand. Oh yes, yes, from the horrified disbelieving expression slapped upon his face, realization that perhaps he might lose dawning at last, he _knew_ the android understood. 

_'You wanted this, you monster…'_ his soul spoke.__

_ 'I wanted this…' _a twisted maze of wire and DNA replied.   
  
But that certainly didn't mean he was going down without taking someone with him… Something flashed in the databank of his mind, and a cold smile worked its way across his features, causing Gohan to slow his assault in wondering what he was up to. His hits became sloppier, his kicks more easily blocked, until he eventually stopped altogether and merely looked on.   
  
Mistake.   
  
Cell released a great yell and powered up, now able to fully focus on the task without Gohan trying to stop him. No blasts came, the boy just stood there, watching curiously. What would he try now, didn't he understand that Gohan was far stronger than him—what a pitiful display, this monster obviously couldn't _handle_ the ki he was drawing into his body, beginning to bloat like a balloon. Bigger, bigger, as more and more energy streamed into his body, now a full three times his original size at least, and still he kept growing. 

A pang of worry shot through Gohan's mind, curiosity shoved into the corner—something wasn't right, this was a battle, a _battle_! Not some game his Saiyan side was being allowed to indulge in! Yamcha, Tenshinhan—_dead_. And _all his fault_.   
  
Alright, enough games Cell.   
  
It was time to win. 

But according to Cell, it was time for them all to die. "I'll admit, Gohan—you're stronger than me like this!" His rough voice could barely be heard over the crackling energy and howling winds, "But if I'm going, then you and the whole rest of this wretched planet is going with me! Tell me, how long do you think you can survive in space, _boy_, without air?!" Maniacal laughter filled the air as he drank in the delicious look of sudden horrified realization that washed over the baby-like face. Oh yes, he would have the last laugh after all it seemed. 

Apparently Goku had other plans, though, as suddenly he was right beside the towering beast, bloated with energy and no longer able to move. Cell flailed his tiny arms wildly, unable to reach the Saiyan far below him, and screamed curses at him. 

"D—Daddy?!" 

With one hand on the warm bulk beside him, and another holding two fingers to his forehead, he turned to cast a weary eye to his warrior son, smiling warmly. How he wanted to hold him one last time—only once, to just give him a hug and say how proud he was… But time was not on the side of the Saiyan father, and all he could do was say goodbye and phase from existence, taking Cell with him. 

"_DADDY!!_" 

_goodbye_… 

* * *

He abandoned his ascended form as quickly as possible and sank ungracefully to his knees—he wanted to cry so badly; to just be Gohan, not to be a Super Saiyan, not even to be a fighter, just to be a little boy and cry… To lean on someone's shoulder and just let all the grief flow forth unhindered. His daddy was gone again, gone _again_—he always left! And it always wound up being his fault somehow. Not enough power, not enough rage, not enough motivation… 

_if you come back, daddy, I promise I'll do better_   


_if you come back I promise I will_   


They all came down now—all that were left, still shocked into silence by the events. Kuririn alone spoke to him, whispering reassuring words into his ear, that it _wasn't_ his fault, that it was _no one's_ fault… 

Stupid humans. 

Time was never on his side. A barely noticeable ki spike, and Trunks' body landed in a heap on the ground, another corpse, with a sickening _thunk_; a clean one-inch-diameter hole burned right through his chest, and the crunch of gravel beneath boots turned his head. 

He was back. He was _back_. 

Oh, he was _back_, was he? Oh ho, he was _back_... There would be no playing around this time. Despite the tears that stung his eyes, straining to be released, a malevolent smile crawled across the demi-Saiyan's bruised and bloodied face, and a new brightness sparked in his eyes. White-hot energy arced around his small frame as he was engulfed in yellow flame, ascending once again to fulfill his duty. 

There were no more tears now, no _time_ for tears. He had no patience for such niceties. "I am going to kill you Cell," a cold voice that could not have been his own spoke low, "I'm going to kill you, simply that. I feel you should know this before I strike you down for the final time." 

No movement was made in reply, merely the holding of a steady gaze between the two fighters. "It is all that I asked from you, boy." 

They both stepped back, squaring off for the final battle. 

Their two worlds exploded simultaneously in a curtain of white-hot fire, swirling up around their forms, and each suddenly knew the other—knew his purpose, knew his sense of self, knew his ultimate goals. 

They blasted forward, leaving prominent dust trails in their wake and disappeared in a whirling flurry of kicks and punches, blows and blasts. A narrowly dodged kick from the android, a swift uppercut from Gohan followed by a thick spray of fluid or a blood-curdling scream—these were all the details caught by those still alive on the sidelines. 

Then suddenly Gohan—or more accurately, the monster Gohan had become—stopped. Just stopped—halted every punch and kick, and wasted no time in slicing a single palm through the now-regenerated gut of his opponent, fingers sharp as knives, so packed with ki were they. Cell would have expected him to repeat his previous action, withdrawing the hand and renewing the assault, but to his immense surprise, the boy _didn't_. 

He _didn't_ explode out the back but kept his hand buried in the abdomen, frowning at the vital organs which threatened to spill from the hole. Cell could only look down into the cold blue-green eyes and wonder what was to come next. He _felt_ the rise in the temperature of his lower half before he even sensed the ki buildup—oh no…The boy—he—he _wouldn't_! 

A feral scream, like that of a mountain wildcat, echoed through the nearly demolished valley, yet no explosion came as of yet. No, Gohan just kept gathering ki—more—_more_ in his little fist, still buried deep in the green flesh of his adversary. Cell tried to bat him away, but he merely used his other arm to effortlessly blast off the appendages—by the time Cell re-grew them, they'd be of no use, for he would be finished. 

Still the energy grew inside, and Cell could do nothing now—Gohan had wrapped him in a half-bear hug with his free arm, clutching him to his own chest. If Cell flew away, then Gohan would be going with him. The pain was a raging fire in his stomach, acid burning through his veins. Before it was released, he was allowed one more look into the eyes of the one who would destroy him. The eyes he'd wanted to see so badly, the ones which burned with anger, rage, hatred—his lifeblood. No remorse, no regret, no signs of mercy, just cold calculating fury. 

"_Goodbye…_" the eyes said, narrowing. He twisted his body to Cell's side, keeping his fist clamped outside, but bringing his palms together all the same. One inside the body, one out, a thin layer of flesh separating his hands. 

Then the whisper came, and it was almost carried away by the wind before it reached Cell's ears. 

"_Ka_…" The first syllable, soft, quiet, not meant to instill fear in his heart. 

"_Me_…" The second syllable, stronger, louder, yet still nearly lost in the swirling winds. A shiver went up the android's spine as recognition of the attack flooded his mind. 

"_Ha_…" The third, and now his voice was just loud enough that the remaining fighters could discern the recitation, eyes widening—this was it, they could _feel_ the finality—_everything_ would be poured into the blast. Gohan would unleash all that he had—would it be enough, though? 

"_Me_…" The fourth, quite loud now, a yell carrying in tow pain and fury, a few stray tears leaking out. 

_if I do this daddy, will you come back?_

_daddy? for you_… 

Face contorting in a pathetic mixture of pain and sudden realization, the android made one final feeble attempt to thwart the boy—turning out to be a _futile_ attempt as well. No reply was granted, save for the final syllable, an anguished, "_HA!_" of release as he discharged the ki, ripping through the cyborg's body as it searched for an opening, an exit. When the energy found none, it simply made one, dissolving the monster's being into nothingness. Even when it seemed not a single cell remained, still energy poured from Gohan's hands, shooting every which way, forming a larger and larger crater. It took nearly all the remaining Z warriors' help to get the child to finally realize that it was over—he was gone. 

But no—_he_ was gone too. _He_. 

_Daddy_… 

He just slipped to the ground, lying broken and beat on his back, and laughed at the sky. 

* * *

His eyes swept round the scooped out land below him, running around the rim and coming to rest at the very center of the bottom where the boy who'd saved the world—who'd saved _him_—had slipped to the ground, chest heaving, as he laughed in victory, glad to have the battle over. 

Stupid child. 

Just like Kakarrot. He couldn't stand either one of them, how they used their heritage, _abused _it. Whatever pain either one of them had gone through during that fight, they deserved it. _He_ should have been the one fighting, the one grinning maliciously as he ground fist after fist into Cell, drinking in eagerly the twisted contortions of that monster's face as Vegeta toyed with him. It shouldn't have been the boy, it should've been _him_. 

For that was what he loved most in a fight—standing proudly above your enemy, _knowing_ you are the stronger one, and just playing. As a Saiyan under the Cold Empire, planet purging gave him ample opportunity to indulge in that pleasure. He flashed back to his days of traveling the universe with Nappa and smiled cynically. How ironic that peaceful as life was for him now, free as he was, his happiest memories issued from times of bondage in the past. 

It was the planet purging missions that truly made him _appreciate_ his Saiyan heritage though, and that was why he recalled them so fondly. Destroying mercilessly—for fun—at the side of another Saiyan… Ah, it brought a smile to the warrior's lips. The rush, the _power_, never holding back, never taking prisoners—though their orders _were_ to take prisoners, but they were vigilantes Freeza overlooked on account of their value to the empire. How he longed to feel that pride again—what he wouldn't do… 

But the Saiyans were all gone now, and he was the prince of a forgotten race, himself forgotten. Who would acknowledge his birthright? Kakarrot? The very thought made him queasy. And he could hardly picture the only other Saiyan joining him on any hunts. No—if he wanted anything done, he would be doing it _alone_. 

But perhaps that was all for the best. Perhaps he _did_ need to be alone for a while. Perhaps a long while. Yet there was so much here holding him back, so many _feelings_—argh, he longed to be rid of them! He wanted feelings for himself in place of feelings for others—pride over care. He wanted… 

He wanted to go. To abandon it all, leave it all behind, and just _go_. 

"I'm leaving," he whispered to himself with startling finality. "I'm _leaving_," he whispered even louder, firmer. He tilted his head up into the blue sky, making his mind up and once again grounded out resolutely, "I'm leaving Earth." 

And so, he flew off to Capsule Corps., eager to have a little chat with Dr. Briefs. 

* * *

It was that time again, when the Light was high up in the Blue and warm against his dry and scaly hide; warming his blood enough to jumpstart his muscles. He got up with as much grace as one with his size could muster and shook himself off. Dust and dead skin seemed to mist over before getting carried off by the winds and making him feel much cleaner and younger. Taking a second to scratch his massive pick-up truck size head against the cavern walls, he pondered the schedule for that day. Oh yes, first thing first… He sniffed the air, testing for a certain scent. 

Ah, the Small One was awake and by the cluster of trees most of the Smalls gathered at for food. As usual. 

He snorted, having it come out sounding like a cross between a roar and sneeze in its stertorous quality. He would get that Small One yet. Oh yes sir, and the Light would be witness to it that day! It wasn't about eating anymore—no—it was about the _getting_! With a final snort he lumbered on his two gigantic feet towards the Small One's scent—his nearly absent tail barely keeping him in balance for a decent run. 

Of course, he failed to recall that he had thought the same notion every week and that every time he would fail to get the tiny yet deceptively _exasperating_ morsel. As it goes, dinosaurs like Scar (or as the Smalls called him, "The Scarred Tail-less," to his irritation) weren't blessed with much of a knack for pattern recognition. A mere hour later the old reptile lumbered back with another 5 square inch of his tail delicately missing—one would think he would have learned the first time around about hunting human children that carried swords. 

* * *

Videl fanned the coals with the cheap bamboo fan she had acquired, her mouth watering at the way the relatively thin slice of meat was sizzling over the fire. She must say it had been a while since the old dinosaur came around drooling and attempting to devour her. The first time she met up with the curiously already half-way-short-of-a-full-tail dinosaur was a little over a year ago when she was unceremoniously "placed" there. 

A year ago. Had it really been a year? Well, according to the markings she had made on the small cave, which served as her main shelter, it was definitely past 365 days. Truthfully, she had had no doubts she could manage this long. After all, she _had_ been living both on the streets and the open country for the last two years as she made her way west from Orange Star City. 

She did, however, wonder how long she would have to wait. It passed through her mind at least once every day that she could be living out there in vain. That the man who promised her power—Vegeta—was never coming back. But something kept her there in earnest wait, patiently counting down the days. She had known right away Vegeta had nothing in both appearance and attitude that could label him as "good". He oozed danger and certain darkness hovered around him like a deadly curse. Videl with what her young eyes had seen over the years could easily see it—and she could clearly see the honor and pride too. 

He was unquestionably a man of his word. 

At least she convinced herself so. 

She would wait. 

* * *

The first few days had been hard. Getting used to the contours and finding food was a problem. But then, Videl was highly resourceful despite her age—a skill gained from the years living off the streets and contending over a slice of molded bread. It was only the second day when Videl mused out loud to herself that the powerful man never said she couldn't leave the area. She could travel to a nearby town and live off there before returning to the harsh wilderness. But of course, she was a fighter—a warrior; and there were certain things like honor to hold up to. 

So she got up early and padded bare foot around the location making sure she never strayed too far from the small lake, fearing that it would turn out to be the only embodiment of water for miles. She happened across numerous landscape oddities and traces that someone else had lived there before. A hand cut half of a coconut shell was clearly used as a bowl and she wasted no time picking it up. 

Choosing one of the sturdier caves that riddled the landscape as her "permanent" home, she collected all she could find that was useful and set it there. Myriad of sharp rocks, flat rocks, and smooth rocks were lined neatly in a habit her deceased mother had instilled in her. Large leaves and dry grass were laid out in the far corner as a bed—she had smiled to herself when she first slept on them, finding it much more comfortable than cardboard boxes on wet and cold pavement. 

It was on the fourth day that the dinosaur first suddenly sneaked on her (to which she could never understand how such a large creature managed to move so silently) and would nearly have gotten her if she hadn't dived into the lake. Seemed like the half-tail reptile had a certain distaste for water—a pity, she had mused, the creature _stunk_. And from that day on she would immediately hide if the smell of a mix of leather, feces, and carcass were to drift in on the wind. 

Videl lived off the abundant berries and fruit trees that seemed to never go empty and occasionally managed to snag a rabbit or two. Mornings were spent practicing whatever katas she could remember or just taking refreshing dips in the lake. She even made it a game to train her lungs, increasing steadily the amount of time she could hold her breath under water. 

It was one sunny day that she decided to try and climb the steep rocky cliffs—just for the heck of it. Maybe she could even sleep under the stars for once; the height making it safe from predators. She almost killed herself before managing to reach the top but the result was well-worth the risk. The view was simply beautiful and she had stared in awe before a bright glint to her right caught her attention. Whatever it was, it was man-made. And whatever was man-made might be of use. 

So she had once again risked her life to scale the even higher vertical rock, her fingers and knees bleeding profusely when she made it. She was a child gifted with a natural sense of readiness, so she had packed a bunch of berries to ensure she could survive a while before her fingers could withstand the climb back down. And what was the object she had seen glinting in the sun? To her delight, it would prove to be her most useful tool of all—and later on a cherished companion. 

It was a sword. 

From the way it had been half buried in the topsoil it looked like it had been there for years. But no rust was found and the edge of the blade still appeared sharp as ever. In fact, Videl had never seen such fine workmanship. Well, her knowledge of blades was decidedly limited, restricted to the times her parents would let her use the kitchen knife or when street kids pulled out switchblades—but even so, she could tell it was a _very_ good sword. And then there was the fact that it could cut cleanly through tree trunks with her meager strength once she got the hang of angling it correctly. 

The only clue she had on who made or possessed the sword was from a crudely carved kanji at the topside of the halberd. It took her nearly a day to decipher the child-like scribble and in the end she guessed the closest meaningful word she could get was "go". "Go," as in "realization" or "enlightenment"—yes, that would suit the sword well. And so she delightedly named the sword "Go-kun". 

Go-kun was there when she got her first ever taste of dinosaur meat. Apparently old Scar was very sensitive about his tail and once Videl got a small slice of it he would immediately lumber away as if remembering something painful from the past. Videl had even wondered if it was Go-kun's owner that once cut off Scar's tail. She was also honestly baffled why anyone would leave behind such a superb weapon. She—for one—would be quite insane to ever part with it: Go-kun was her best friend for now. 

It wasn't long before she incorporated sword-play into her katas, mostly improvising as she went. With no humans to try it against (save for the occasional bandits that passed through and consequently provided her with clothing and other supplies when they dared try to rob her of Go-kun) she didn't have a clue where her weaponry skills stood. No matter though, as long as she could defend herself against Scar it was all that mattered. 

It had been somewhere during the first 6 months that strange earthquakes rocked the area. In fact, it felt like the whole earth was shaking and she had been genuinely scared out of her wits. The earthquakes soon stopped and all was calm once more. She had blinked and pushed herself up back on her feet from the ground, trying to figure out just why the earthquakes felt more like shockwaves from some great blast. She was even more confused when hours afterwards the sky had gone completely black. The event also quickly went away and she accredited it to some unknown effect from the earlier earthquakes. 

After that, nothing particularly exciting ever happened again. 

And she continued waiting. 

* * *

There was a knock. It wasn't particularly loud or hurried—just a crisp rap in an announcing manner. Vegeta kept his arm forward in a completed swing position and kept his blue-green eyes staring straight ahead at an unseen enemy. One would almost think he was tracing the outline of a tall, spiky haired man the way his piercing orbs burned with a mix of grudging respect and resent. 

It wasn't until the entry door to the Gravity Room swished open that Vegeta dropped the arm and straightened up to face his visitor. He never welcomed anyone that disturbed his training time, but this time he cut himself some slack and allowed just a minor spark of anticipation warm him. After all, Dr. Briefs wasn't a man who would willingly intrude on the Saiyan prince's time unless it was for a reason. 

"Vegeta," the genius father of Bulma cheerily greeted, "It's done!" 

Even the cold destroyer of planets couldn't help the smallest of smirks twist into his face at the statement. He had approached the aging man with a not so gentle demand nearly half a year ago to harness the genius's skill in making Vegeta a vehicle to travel in space. The months after were spent in impatient wait as he buried himself in his training. 

Vegeta had convinced himself it wasn't so that he could avoid Bulma and her son. 

He almost faltered in his plans to leave the blue-green sphere when Mirai Trunks left. The young man reminded him of the potential his own son could achieve. However, the thought of even entertaining the idea to settle down was like a blow to his gut. Could he? Could he _really_ stay there on a planet where he wasn't the strongest? Where his one true rival had left in death taking his chance of victory with him? Where a woman and her child reside—a constant reminder of his momentary weakness? 

Mirai Trunks had told him of the life he had gone through amidst the cyborgs' reign of terror in the time they both had spent in the Room of Spirit and Time. Even though Vegeta had made no indication of listening, Trunks continued his monologue without care. Afterwards, the Saiyan prince ignored his future son to once again step into the open white and continue training—but he kept the pain-filled words in mind. He had promised himself not to leave _his_ Trunks without a father. 

He _had_. 

That was before Kakarrot's son ascended beyond them all, before Kakarrot sacrificed himself. Before he realized he really needed to escape from this—this—_failure_, this trap of mundane consistency. The baby still had his mother and the world was at peace. Surely Vegeta wouldn't be sorely missed. It wasn't like he would play an active role with his son other than training him if he stayed. His future son turned out—_satisfactory_, even without him there. 

They didn't need him. 

Nor he them. 

  


* * *

  
The large pod like ship was eerily reminiscent of Goku's space-ship that he took to Namek. Though, _this_ one was visibly much larger and more elliptical in form; more aerodynamically suited to atmosphere traveling than just space where aerodynamics had no bearing. Vegeta was lucky that Dr. Briefs—being the inquisitive scientist he was—continued to expand on the information he had gathered and created when he first made Goku's ship. Not mention Vegeta's transport was modeled after an upgraded Ginyu pod—the exact one Goku had arrived from Yardat in. 

"I took the liberty of dividing the sections more clearly since you had said you would be living in it for quite some time," Dr. Briefs explained before leading Vegeta in for a tour of the craft. 

The main door led in to the air-lock chamber before opening into a lobby-like room with three corridors branching off in different directions and a round ladder that went down to another level. Vegeta immediately noticed the intercom panels by each corridor. Not to mention that even the current room they were in had the appearance of a _family_ living room—sofas and a coffee table were bolted down on the cold white tile. 

"What are those useless things for? Didn't I say I was going alone?" Vegeta scowled. 

"Why Vegeta," the lavender haired man replied innocently, "We must be prepared if you were to have guests! You are after all going on a vacation in space! Who knows if you end up hosting intergalactic scientists!" 

Vegeta didn't even bother to respond. And "vacation"? The man sounded like he was sure Vegeta would come back. Would he? Pushing the contemplation out from his mind, Vegeta briskly strolled through the automatic sliding doors into what seemed to be the main control room. 

"Ah, I modeled the controls from what I found in the pods. I also added a few extras like radar and manual controls for atmospheric flight since I assumed you would stop by planets for re-fueling and supplies. The planetary coordinate maps are also in the database and it's still all in that language you used." 

Vegeta eyed the controls, feeling something akin to a peculiar mix of nostalgia and disgust. The controls were a breath of familiarity to him on the strange alien planet. But even so, they reminded him of his servitude under Freeza—a taint in his pride that would consequently remind him of the blasted Kakarrot once again. Sweeping his eyes over the panel, taking note of unfamiliar buttons, Vegeta went ahead pressing recognizable ones and brought the ship to life. 

The large screen flickered to show the Capsule Corps yellow dome as secondary grids and statistics blinked on the lower right and left corners. Vegeta had to admit Bulma's father was thorough in his work and was extremely pleased. He frowned though when he skimmed through the ship's directories and commands—he could hardly read them. 

"It's in Earth language," Vegeta pointed out, "I want them in the universal script." 

Dr. Briefs lightly chewed on his ever-present cigarette, kicking himself mentally for failing to remember that Vegeta wasn't fluent in the Earth's written language. Giving the Saiyan an apologetic smile, he immediately formulated a way out and nodded. "I would need your assistance since I don't understand a word of your language. And I need to be able to check if everything is translated correctly." 

Vegeta nodded in reply. "Can you get it done by today?" 

"I can get it done in an hour. I just need you to confirm some constants and double check a few variables in the language later on. The computer will translate everything else automatically." 

"Good. You do that right now. I'll be evaluating the rest of the ship." 

With that, Vegeta exited the control room and explored the vehicle that would be his 'home' for an un-predetermined extended time. The second corridor to the control room's right led to the training facility that was nearly identical to the gravity room he had been using. The chamber was considerably larger and on his request was able to generate more than the 300g pressure his current GR could. A door next to the GR led to a medical section where it held relatively high-tech life support systems (taken from the pods) and most of Earth's newest and best medical supplies. There were large empty spaces left via Vegeta's orders—who knew that he could get himself a regen tank or anything more useful than the Earth's pathetic medical instruments. 

The third corridor led to an extensive storage room that could supply a small family for years. Rows upon rows of capsules were available to store more than Vegeta could ever need and a large freezer was also present. An elevator was placed at the middle of the storage room to ease transporting supplies to the lower level where the living quarters were. Taking it, Vegeta found himself at the juncture between the kitchens and bedrooms. 

The kitchen wasn't very large with just a few of the necessities—it seemed Dr. Briefs realized how efficient a person Vegeta was. A wide table was placed a few feet from the stoves and had more seats than Vegeta would have cared for. Along the walls of the room were large round windows, providing a clear view of their surroundings and later on, in space, a breathtaking view of the stars. Shutters were installed in case the need for complete stealth arose. 

The main bedroom was easily found since Dr. Briefs took the time to label it with his name. Snorting at the name plate that simply said "Vegeta", he made his way to the end of the hall. Down the hall and across from his room was the guest room, considerably smaller and had the furnishings of an average hotel. Vegeta scowled at the guest room, wondering why it had to be placed so close to his or why it was even added in at all. Between the two rooms were a bathroom and an extra small storage room. 

His master bedroom was spacious with plain white furnishing and had its own private bathroom to his satisfaction. A control panel beside the queen-sized bed enabled him to control the ship—albeit restrictive in maneuvering—and generally monitor the ship and alert him if anything was amiss. Satisfied, he returned to the upper level and exited, heading to his quarters at the CC dome. 

He had no possessions save for the replica of Cold Empire armor the woman had made for them during the Cell Games. He would take that along—it would be useful in intimidating races that still held fear for the elites of Freeza. Dressing up in the blue spandex and white gloves he took one final look at the room and closed the door behind him. 

He felt no attachment to the place he was about leave—at least he didn't give himself the time to even think about it—and just quickly made his way back to Dr. Briefs. The man was waiting for Vegeta when he entered. 

"Ah! Vegeta, I need you to check a few—eh?" The scientist pushed his glasses up a bit before eying Vegeta. "Why are you dressed like that? Are you leaving so soon??" 

"The ship is ready to go and stocked is it not?" 

"Yes—bu-but, aren't you going to say goodbye to Bulma or Trunks?" 

Vegeta's eyes narrowed and the Saiyan crossed his arms. "I have no wish to do so. Now, what is it you need to know? I'm leaving immediately." 

For a split-second the good scientist's facial expression darkened and it took Vegeta by surprise. Never in the years with the Briefs had Vegeta ever seen anything but positive emotions from the paterfamilias. The man genuinely seemed angry that Vegeta would be leaving without telling his daughter—_deserting_ her. However, the man calmed himself down before turning to the controls and beckoned Vegeta over with a wave of his hand. Vegeta frowned before making his way over and answering all the questions Dr. Briefs threw at him. 

Should he be wary now? After all, Dr. Briefs was the one to make the ship—if he were to sabotage it in anger… 

No. The man wasn't capable of hurting anyone. And that included Vegeta, no matter how much he would certainly hurt Bulma by deserting her. 

Was he—? Deserting? 

It didn't matter. If Vegeta was leaving he had no need to report to the woman like some lapdog. She knew he was going to leave the day Dr. Briefs had started working on the space-ship. She was angry, that was a given, but even she—the stubborn woman that she was—gave up the fight. Strange. It hadn't felt like much of a victory to him. 

Now, Vegeta settled into the pilot chair and stared at the numbers and words flashing across the scene in the initial starting sequence. This was it. He was leaving. Scanning the North Quadrant planet grid, he settled the coordinates to one of the closest re-fueling ports that should be still active even with the downfall of the Cold family. 

The computer beeped twice to confirm the coordinates and rose steadily into the air, blasting the surrounding ground and trees like a hurricane. Vegeta suddenly felt a rush of eagerness to feast his eyes on the open space once more. To be _free_. He could go wherever he wanted, _do_ whatever he wanted. No more did he have to feel like he was tethered to a pole by Freeza, having the chains of slavery bite into his pride. 

The space-ship vibrated heavily before taking off into the sky. It didn't _blast_ off as Goku's ship had done, but merely ascended higher and higher at a considerably leisure pace. Vegeta didn't know why it felt like something was nagging him not to leave so quickly. 

"_Two minutes until total Earth gravity release_." 

Was it about the woman? No. It was something else—something—something he couldn't really recall… 

"_60 seconds_." 

The Earth's gravity pulled at the ship and the ascent slightly curved to compensate, ending up somewhere directly above the area where Vegeta had first arrived in. His onyx eyes swiveled to the landscape once again unwillingly. Feh. At least that was yet another landscape he would be pleased to leave behind. 

"_40 seconds_." 

Leave—behind? Something about the landscape… Something— 

He was now directly above the area Kakarrot's son had trained in. 

"_30 seconds_." 

The area with the outcroppings, the small lake, and the fruit trees. 

The area where he'd left the girl. 

"_20 seconds_." 

Damn it. Yes, the girl. 

A few swift strokes to the command panel and the ship stopped, hovering still in the ionosphere, the second most outer layer of the atmosphere some 100 miles over the surface of the earth. Vegeta glared at the screen to the landscape below. 

He'd entirely forgotten about the girl. She could be dead for all he cared. However, he did promise didn't he? But why should he anyway? She was human, weak—yet he remembered just how much she reminded Vegeta of himself. A child that felt more _attuned_ to him in the few minutes they met than the hulking Saiyan that was Nappa for all those years. Nappa and Raditz were the ones that went with him on the missions. Traveled the universe with him…. 

What fun was it to destroy things if there wasn't someone to laugh about it with? 

And the child—would she still be as accepting as he last remembered her? How easily could he mold her into his like-ness without anyone interfering? Vegeta's mind traveled to the extra room Dr. Briefs had installed. And then a stroke of inspiration came to him. If—just _if_ he could get the girl strong enough to fatally wound him— 

Standing up from the seat, Vegeta strode briskly to the exit and flew off the vessel. He could be just wasting time. The girl could be dead, could have given up and wandered to a city. But then, he should check it just the same—impatient as he was to leave the planet. 

He floated above the area, quickly scanning for ki. He felt a few higher ki than others in the area—probably belonging to large predators. Did he really have the patience to check them out one by one? The sun's heat beat upon his back, making him even more impatient and irritated. What the heck was he doing there? 

"Bah—this is ridiculous…" Vegeta scowled, displeased that he had wasted time for some mere human girl. He was about to turn around when a bright glint caught his attention. A bright _metallic_ glint. Narrowing his hawk like eyes, he picked up the small movement on the surface below—right by the lake where he had last left the girl. 

A nearly invisible smirk graced his features as Vegeta descended, his back against the burning noon sun. The closer he got gave him more details to the small figure below. The flash was coming from a small sword gripped tightly in an even smaller fist, swinging carefree along with the girl's stride. She appeared immensely cleaner than he last saw her, her black hair now down to her back and bound with some twine. Her over-sized clothing was suited to the outdoors: dark brown leather and denim material that appeared to be slapped together hastily—like outfits that desert rogues would wear. He gave it no more thought as he got even closer, his imposing shadow now alerting the small child. 

The black-haired girl quickly spun around to face the cause of the growing silhouette, her sword poised in both defense and attack, gripped firmly in both hands. Vegeta would have laughed at her attempt to defend herself but didn't for some reason—not feeling up to it at the moment. The child whose name he had guiltily forgotten squinted up at him, unable to discern who or _what_ he was since, with his back against the sun, she was blinded to any details. 

No matter though, she was there and alive. The brat actually survived the year. _How interesting_. 

Vegeta kept his descent feet first, arms folded in his usual stance. 

_How interesting indeed_. 

  


* * *

  
The shadow above her grew, looming larger in her vision as it descended like a dark angel. Still she could make out no features or details of the form, even when she squinted, so bright was the sun behind it. Raising one hand to her forehead, she tried to shield herself from the painful glare of the rays streaming down upon her. Unconsciously she tightened her grip on Go-kun's well worn handle; keeping it at the ready should whoever—_whatever_ this thing was turn out to be an enemy. 

She backed up—it was nearly on top of her, and slowly the image sharpened, details blurring into focus: it was a _man_. But—no, not just a man… 

It was Vegeta. 

Yes, it's been a long year. 

  


* * *

  
He circled her like a predator, eyes sweeping up and down calculative in appraisal of her slender frame as she still clutched Go-kun protectively, now holding it to her chest, unsure of what the next few moments would bring. Their first conversation more than a year ago had explicated what would happen up to this point. The only question pervading her mind now was, _"What next?"_

She said nothing, though, not wishing to be the one to break the silence and feeling quite certain that the man would answer her questions shortly. He made one more pass around her before stopping in front of her, arms crossed over his chest. 

"Well?" he prompted roughly, raising a single eyebrow in question. 

She relaxed her hold on the sword, and replied slowly with a sarcastic air, "Well what?" 

The man's eyes widened a bit at the audacity she still showed him—apparently a year in the wilderness had done little to improve her manners—but managed to keep his face relatively blank, betraying nothing through his expression. "Are you ready to go?" 

That was it. That was what was next: _leaving_. Ah, but the question was, ready to go _where_? She cast a worried glance down at her weapon, giving its handle a slight squeeze as if to ask, _'You ready to go, Go-kun?'_

It gave no response to the child, and she was forced to voice her question, though somewhere inside she knew she shouldn't have—it showed impatience on her part, unfaithfulness that Vegeta would reveal all when she needed to know. "Go—where?" 

"Away from here." Another short, curt answer that made more questions than it answered. But she should have expected no less from the Saiyan prince, shouldn't she have? 

What else could she do but follow him wherever he led her? Stay here, for another year? Not when the promise-maker was so near—he'd guaranteed her power, and something about him told her he would not fail to deliver. Her blue eyes blazed as she stared straight into his black pits. 

"I'm ready." A smirk widened upon the warrior's face as the blue-eyed girl stepped forward, ready to do as he commanded, go where he led, think as he told her to think. Ready to be _him_. She'd survived in the wild lands for over a year, quite a feat for a human, though he would never admit it. If the child of Kakarrot's could do it, then certainly a child of _his_ coul— 

His child? No, not his child—he _had_ a child already. And he was leaving it. Losing one child, gaining another. He stared down at the girl before him, noticing the weapon she still held in her tiny right fist. "What—is _that_?" he sneered in question, scowling and pointing a finger distastefully. 

She glanced down and pulled it closer to her chest, being sure to keep her fingers well clear of the well-sharpened blade. "It's—my sword." 

He sniffed disdainfully. "Well be rid of it, we're leaving now." With that he turned on his heel and began walking away towards the shimmering blue-green lake before him, waiting until he heard the crunch of gravel which meant she was following behind obediently. No crunch came. When he'd nearly reached the shoreline he turned an angry eye to her. 

"Girl?" She stood in the same spot, staring down at the hilt wrapped in cloth. "Come on, girl, I've no time for this!" Her eyes shot up to meet his, and he began walking back towards her, an angry frown now marring his perfect features. "What's your problem?" 

In a very small voice uncharacteristic of her, she hesitantly replied, "I—I wanted to take it with me." Shock struck Vegeta square in the forehead. "I was going to keep it—I've been training with it!" She marked her pleas with reasoning. Perhaps if she made it clear the weapon had been incorporated into her training routine he would let her keep it. After all, he seemed the type to appreciate the value of a good weapon. 

Truthfully, though, Go-kun had become something of a friend and protector to Videl over the past year. He'd been there to defend her from Scar, had helped her fight off bandits, had cleared her path through many a forest of dense undergrowth. He was her most powerful ally, and she would sooner die than hastily toss him aside like Vegeta was asking her to. 

A white-gloved hand found its way to her shoulder, shaking her from her reverie, and she followed a line up his arm to rest on his face that once again wore a determined smirk. "When _I'm_ through with you, brat, you won't need any weapon for protection…You yourself will be an instrument of destruction." 

Her eyes widened—was this the power he'd spoken of, the power he'd promised her? Power which would render Go-kun useless? Go-kun—she still didn't want to leave him! He was always there, one of the few constants in her life of wandering. Home wasn't constant, friends weren't constant, even the simple probability she would find food wasn't constant—but her sword _was_. She— 

But apparently Vegeta wasn't one to indulge in sentimental crap like memories of days gone by. He had a schedule to keep and a planet to leave. If the girl wanted to come, fine, but that sword was staying. The smirk faded into an angry scowl, and—never one for patience—he leaned forward and snatched the hilt from her grasp, interrupting her thoughts. 

A shocked gasp slipped from her lips, and she stupidly grabbed the blade to stop him from taking it—an action she would regret later on. The cold metal easily sliced her palms open like a hot knife cutting butter, spilling her precious life-blood upon the dusty ground and nearly severing her hands halfway up the palm. Vegeta paid no attention to the girl's foolish actions and flung away the sword, sending it flying into a nearby cliff-side where it embedded itself snugly in the rock. 

"_GO-KUN!_" she yelled out instinctively, lunging forward and calling to it as if she had just lost her closest friend. 

Vegeta's ears twitched when she spoke, and he turned a wide-eyed furious gaze to her, grabbing her roughly by the shoulders. "Wh—_what_ did you just say?" came the barely whispered question, its shock and anger not lost with the drop in volume. 

Go-kun's loss was immediately forgotten as she found herself staring straight into the warrior's eyes, confused at the sudden shift in demeanor. His pupils danced wildly, practically _shaking_ with rage, and she racked her mind for what could have set him off. "I—I—called Go-kun…You threw him…" she finally managed, finding it difficult to form words when he kept shaking her every few seconds. 

He quickly shoved the girl away, severely berating himself for losing his composure before the child. _Go-kun_—yes, of course. Of course she would have called out her little endearment for the weapon, and not the name of a Saiyan she'd never met. How _could_ she have known that name, after all? He had simply been focusing too intently on that stupid low-life Kakarrot lately, and _everything_ made him think of the man somehow. He heard the name in every statement, saw his face on every body, could even detect his sickening stench in the most crowded room. Too long—too long he'd been obsessing over this. It was time to leave it all behind. 

Videl stared down at her bloodied hands, horrified—they hadn't stopped oozing yet, staining everything the same sickening blackish-red hue. She was actually beginning to feel a bit lightheaded, her stomach turning in revulsion, when she felt a sharp pinching sensation on the back of her neck as her feet left the ground to flail about uselessly in the air. 

"Let's go, brat—before you die on me and I have to lug your useless carcass around." 

  


* * *

  
Moments later she was unceremoniously flung through the airlock into the main departure chamber of Vegeta's ship, keeping herself from rolling about by landing on all fours. The cold metal floor stung her wounded palms and she let a tiny moan escape her lips and squeezed her eyes shut in pain, to which Vegeta looked down scornfully, conscious of the red stains on his new floor. 

He briskly strode over to a small cabinet in the main corridor and jerked it open, scanning the contents quickly before removing a roll of medicinal tape, tossing it to Videl. "Mend your wounds," was all he said before marching off to the main control room, leaving her to her own devices. 

She watched him abandon her for a moment before swiftly picking up the tape and managing to rip a strip off with which to wrap her hands. Once they were successfully treated, she returned the tape to the closet he'd left open and began wandering down the hallway she'd seen him exit by. There seemed to be very few rooms in the craft, everything cold and sterile with nothing of a "homey" feel to it at all. Was this where Vegeta lived? Where he'd waited for over a year before returning to her? What had he _done_? 

A slight jolt nearly sent her to her knees as she leaned against the wall for support, but she quickly recovered. Following it, a faint clicking reached her ears from the last room at the end of the corridor, and she hesitatingly approached it. A metal door at the end immediately slid open once she got close enough, startling her. No reprimand came and all was quiet so she poked her head in, openly gaping at the myriad instruments and control panels dotting the walls and bridge. It actually _was_ a ship! She failed to suppress a slight gasp of shock at the sight when she laid eyes on the room, though, and Vegeta quickly turned to greet his guest, beckoning her over with the same gesture he'd used upon first meeting her. 

He guided her over in front of the main viewing screen, upon which the whole of Earth was passing in a great brown, blue, and white blur. Her eyes widened in wonder when everything burst into flame, bathing all in sight in red. He explained that it would pass in a moment, and indeed it did, eventually returning to the soft natural tones familiar. Now, though, the planet was only half viewed and most of the screen was occupied by a vast expanse of black dotted with twinkling stars. Would wonders never cease—she felt she could almost reach out and touch it, like a big blue beach ball, and actually tentatively reached out a few fingers. 

He cast an interested eye down at the human child before him, viewing her planet with the awe and wonder he'd never experienced. Planets were just—_there_ for him. Nothing special, he saw them frequently when arriving at or leaving mission sites. Jaded, he'd lost any appreciation for the wonders of nature, when he _himself_ was one of those wonders. 

Her planet—she was leaving her planet. This man, this _Vegeta_ was taking her away, and she couldn't even guess as to whether or not she would return again. Everything was one great mystery now. From that moment more than a year ago, when he'd first approached her, stepping into her life from the sidelines of a street-fight, she'd known things would be different. But leaving… 

Well, what was she really leaving, when she thought about it? Family? No. Friends? Hardly. Anything that even remotely resembled human life? She'd lost that long ago. 

So, what was she leaving? Her planet, that was it. Just a big blue ball of dirt and water. 

What was she gaining? Her eyes turned from the view screen up to the Saiyan prince beside her, not much taller than herself. _Him_. She was gaining him. A teacher, a mentor, a fath—well, a father _figure_ at least. 

His eyes were focused away from her on the screen now. What, she wondered absently, was _he_ leaving? Was he as accepting of abandoning the planet as she? Did he have friends, family, a life? What was Earth to him? 

Unbeknownst to her, he was asking himself the exact same questions. 

Both, Saiyan warrior and human child, kept their eyes on the screen in silence as not a minute later the planet faded out from view and from their lives. This was it. A new beginning for them. For one it was a journey to regain his lost pride, as for the other, a journey that would ultimately strip away her humanity.   


To be Continued. 

* * *

Sage's notes: Heh heh…um, man, this thing is almost _Veritas_ long—let's hope it doesn't get relegated to _Veritas_ update speed though! *eyes Ann* Of course, we all know who to mess with about _that_ now don't we? Um, well, I guess the only thing we really need to let you know this time around is: hurry up with those reviews! We got a few specials written out and ready to post, but we can't do that (well we _could_, but we're mean and we won't) until we get reviews (that and we want to wait until the story's far enough along to merit these little side bits ^^;;). Your turn, Ann—don't make me come down there and gqoa you! 

Ann's notes: Blah! Aw! I wanted to write the notes first! *pouts at Sage* I'm so going to smoc you for this!! And guys, she means it that we got a review special already in hand! We _were_ going to put it in with the storyline but it just stands so well on its own. Ohohoho, did you people see that coming? That Vegeta was going to leave? Poor Videl won't be anything like she was before after Vegeta (or us) is done with her. And for the record, THIS IS NOT A VEGETA/VIDEL FIC!! And dang it, we still can't get in a decent smoc chapter end…. But later on…. *rubs hands together evilly* All your questions will be answered eventually! We're not giving any away in the mean time! 

_Glossary of Evil Terms:___

_- Gqoa (gee-kee-yu-oh-ah): The participation of Gohan and Videl in a plot where the author would implement devices of immeasurable torture upon the two. Usually accompanied with death of either one and/or both to which the remaining party (if only one is departed) will be subjected to heavy angst and the possibility of a mental breakdown or even suicide. "Gqoa" can also be used as a verb (gqoa, gqoa-ing, gqoa-ed) as a mean to vaguely threaten your peers and to depict the act of implementing angst into literature. As an adjective (gqoa-ly, gqoa-ness) it is used to measure the level of angst and/or evil._

_- Smoc (suh-mock): The act of providing a written piece to which the reader has devoted full attention to before truncating the said literature at the peak of the plot. The term differs from the regular well known term "cliffhangers" as "smoc" is generally used when adding a certain malevolent and sinister element to the regular cliffhanger. As a verb (smoc, smoc-ing, smoc-ed) it is similar in use with "gqoa" in terms to threaten one's peer; otherwise, it is used when a particularly evil author chooses to insert a cliffhanger. As an adjective (smoc-ly, smoc-ness) it is used to measure the merciless way a chapter is ended and/or evil._

**Evil Counter: 10**


	4. Crush, Burn, Cut, Polish

Disclaimer: 

"So, Sage, what are we going to do tonight?" 

"The same thing we do every night, Ann. Try to take advantage of Akira Toriyama's characters and torture them while taking over the world!!" 

They're Ann, they're Ann and the Sage, Sage, Sage….   


* * *

  
Angst and Cliffhangers present…   


An Evil Authoresses Production....   


**Parable of the Eagle**

_Chapter 3: Crush, Burn, Cut, Polish_   
__

* * *

  
The blue eyed petite girl should have known that with a man like Vegeta, training started _immediately_. No more than five minutes after the Earth had went off screen did her would-be mentor set the ship on auto-pilot. At least she surmised as much—she couldn't read a single letter from the controls. What language was it? And shouldn't she be freaked out that she was in _space_ with a man that could _fly_ and _shoot_ beams out from his hands? She had briefly scanned her inner-self for a hint of apprehension. 

Nope. That's a negative, Ma'am. 

Maybe the shock just hadn't settled in yet. Or maybe she now had a goal to strive for and nothing else could even remotely dent her determination. Whatever it was, it would help her to survive the years to come. 

Vegeta had given her a look and for some reason she immediately knew that it meant for her to follow him. So she did, going back to the main lobby and through another different corridor into a large empty room. The doors swished shut ominously behind her and she stood ready to give it her all. 

  


* * *

  
Vegeta eyed the lithe figure before him like a slab of useless clay waiting to be molded. For that's what she really was, wasn't she? Useless. Un-polished. Even so, ready to bend to his every will. This human—just how much could she really endure? If even with his teachings would she to remain useless… he would get rid of her. Simple. 

If she couldn't survive this first day of instruction she would die by his hands. 

"You are weak and pathetic—probably always will be," Vegeta sneered, watching as the girl's eyes narrowed and her teeth clench tightly, "however, you could have power only few of _your_ race could ever achieve." 

"My—race?" She whispered mostly to herself, catching the way Vegeta had emphasized it was hers and not _his_. 

"Don't question me unless I command you to. You will only know what I deem is required. Do what I tell you to do. You understand?" She frowned but nodded none-the-less. Vegeta's face light up in dark glee, satisfied that for once in a long time someone actually _listened_ to him as a subordinate should. Back on Earth he had trouble even intimidating a blue-haired wo—stop thinking about her. "Your first lesson will be learning to do this." 

With that, Vegeta raised a palm and a white ball of energy formed, hovering like a giant fire-fly. Videl stared at the sphere, entranced by its intense glow and the fact that it came out from nowhere. It pulsed with gentle yet dangerous light; she could almost feel the _humming_ of power. Her stare was roughly cut off as Vegeta snapped his palm shut, extinguishing the ball in a burst. "It is called ki. An energy found in every living being. It can be used to boost strength and speed, to attack and defend. Its flexibility lies solely on the imagination and control of its manipulator." 

The girl raised her hands and stared at them, in awe that such a thing even existed. She lowered her arms and looked up back at him, eager to learn more. Vegeta continued, a smirk ever so slowly forming on his regal features, "There are many ways to find and bring out this ki from within. Though, I have no patience to wait more than a day for you to waste time getting hold of such basics. If within a few hours you don't succeed in bringing it out—quite frankly I'm getting rid of you." 

Her jaw dropped but she quickly closed it again, a sudden rush of nervousness coming over her. Could she do it? Manage to pull off something she never even heard of before? Get rid of—he's going to kill her? Great. Just great, what kind of mess had she gotten herself into? More importantly, why didn't she care? 

"Then show me how," she replied confidently, "If it really is as simple and basic as you said it is, then maybe I really don't deserve to live if I can't figure it out by the end of the day." 

"You will, child, or die trying." 

Then without warning, Vegeta raised an arm and blasted her. 

It was like being slammed with a tree trunk while at the same time being burned and electrocuted. The ki ball impacted her squarely on her chest and sent her small body flying back to crash violently against the GR's walls with a loud smack. Too surprised by the pain, and having the wind knocked out of her, she couldn't even manage a decent shout and ended up wheezing and gasping. Every pore _burned_ with pain, as if molten lava was coursing through her veins and cooking her insides. It was on will alone that she was able to push herself up onto her knees, aware of Vegeta's insouciant eyes. 

"Ki attacks not only affect the physical body with external damage, but also affect the opponent's ki as well. Like conflicting radio waves that cause interference with one another," Vegeta paused his lecture to eye the trembling girl. There was no sign of tears or internal bleeding, yet he could tell his blast was just a tad too powerful for her—nah. "Did you _feel_ it, girl? Where your ki lies?" 

By birth Saiyan children are already insanely strong in potential ki. Even so, when it came to ki training, additional instruction was still needed. The Saiyan 'trainers' knew little of verbal coaching and even less patience. Vegeta himself was still hardly old enough to stand properly before being ki blasted continuously till he "found" the well of energy deep within. It'll be amusing to see if the girl could stand up to the lowest Saiyan standards. Unknown to him, he would get a very big surprise. 

"Fe-e-eel…?" She gasped, just barely catching the man's words over the pounding in her ears. All she could feel was _pain_. And she was supposed to feel where her _ki_ was? Where it was damaged? How? Her whole body was on fire—she could hardly even feel her limbs individually. Blinking the red dots out from her vision, she waited till the boiling sensations in her chest lessened enough for her brain to work once more. 

Other than the pain—no—the _pain_ itself. She was supposed to feel _specific_ pain, wasn't she? Something he had said about "interference", that her ki should be reacting to his attack. Like pain in her legs meant that her legs were there, pain in her arms tested to the fact her arms were present—she would need to find the pain in her _ki_ to know where it was. She hadn't been prepared though, she couldn't tell the difference. That meant… 

But it had hurt. It had _hurt_ more than anything else. Suddenly she wanted no more than to beg the man to return her to Earth. She didn't want to get blasted again; having the combined agony of being burned and electrocuted inside out. She didn't want to feel the way her muscles had spasm under the foreign energy, so much that it felt like they would tear themselves from her bones. Anything—_anything_ but that… 

_I don't want to feel it again, please, I don't want to_. 

However, she found herself rising to her feet and turning determined—and, she believed, _scared_—deep blue orbs up at the silent man. Her mouth opened and the words bubbled up with less difficultly than she had expected, her cheek still twitching slightly from the blast. Once she said the words, she regretted them—they sounded like the command for her execution, echoing with finality in the bland white room. But the words were already said, and it hung heavily—leaving a sour taste in her mouth. 

"Do it again." Three words she wished she could retract. 

Vegeta seemed almost amused before raising his arm once again. Fear and self-preservation prevailed at the sight and she nearly screamed for mercy. The blast—less intense and smaller—once again slammed into her already battered frame. This time though, she focused on the pain that wasn't _physical_. 

It still hurt like hell, that was a given, but underneath the sensation of her flesh recoiling from the shock…. Amazingly, she _could_ feel it. Something different—a pain not really tangible and not really even "pain". More like a buzz, a frizzled feeling like after getting electrocuted—familiar since it wasn't seldom she felt the claws of electricity tearing through her body whenever some punk decide to attack her with a stun gun. This however, being ki blasted, went _deeper_. She could almost pin point it, the feeling, somewhere there in her center, she could almost tou—it's gone. The feeling went as quickly as it came, almost erasing itself from her memory in a blink. 

She was so close! It was like opening the doors to a world where all her dreams of power could be fulfilled! No, she couldn't stop there! Vegeta promised power and strength, and she _would_ get it no matter what! She'll be damned if she would ever be weak again. 

"A-again!" she hoarsely cried, pushing the word through clenched teeth as quickly as she could—less she chicken out from the expected torture once more. It came no second later, throwing her body back against the walls, but she paid no attention. 

She found _it_. 

A warmth; a place deep inside that felt like a endless well of inner strength. The discovery seemed to open closed gates and the locks broke away. It was now available like any of her other limbs, ready to be polished, to be used. 

Vegeta almost scoffed when the girl raised a trembling arm. Did the child think she would get it so quickly? Certainly it was not even comparable to third class standards, but to find such little ki in three blasts was downright admirable considering her age, gender, and race… That explained pretty much why Vegeta's eyebrow rose when a small white ball flickered to life in her palm. 

The brat did it. The female brat actually _did it_. And in less than fifteen minutes. 

The warm glowing sphere hovered for two seconds before it flickered away and the girl pitched forward flat on her face in a dead faint. A dull crack and a thin trail of blood flowing under her face testified that she broke her nose on impact. Even with the ungraceful closing, Vegeta was thankful. If she was still conscious, he feared he might find himself giving the girl an encomium about her relatively satisfactory performance. 

Picking her up by the back of her collar, he effortlessly lifted her to the medical ward. He all but threw her limp body onto the bed in the corner and left to train. Hours later, a hesitant Videl would approach him back in the GR. Vegeta gruffly ordered her to clean up and train her ki alone since she found it already. Three weeks later they would be arriving at the fueling port—and until then, Vegeta would have nothing to do with her unless she's hovering four feet off the ground. 

After five days, the human girl floated to look Vegeta in the eye. Smirking, the adult Saiyan proceeded to train her in the basics of ki attacks. She had proven her initial worth, now it was a matter of keeping her standard up to his liking.   


* * *

  
For the first time in her life, Videl wished to have eight independently moving eyes like the alien that had just passed her. There was simply too much to see, too much to take in. The "rest stop" of F-209 wasn't crowded in any sense of the word, but it could have been the way it dazzled Videl at the sheer variety of life forms. 

During the three weeks of getting there, Vegeta had informed her about his race and the existence of other races. He first wasted no time in making it clear that she was to learn how to navigate the ship and also familiarize herself with the universal script they would be using from then on. He simple wrote down the alphabets of the script and read them out loud as Videl wrote down how they sounded. Most of the single "letter" of the script was pronounced with two letters as she noted. Vegeta wrote down his name with the letters that sounded like "beh-gee-ta" before telling her to write down her name. 

She did suspect it was a tactic to find out her name without actually asking for it but she made no indication that she thought so. It was useless anyway, as she would later on find out, since the man hardly called her anything else but "girl", "brat", "kid", and the occasional "idiot" or "weakling"—let alone her name. She scanned through the letters and picked the three ones closest to her name. "Bee-deh-ru". The letters were ones with soft curves, a few circles and prominent lines—she liked it. It was exhilarating in a way to see her name in alien script. 

Another thing that astonished her was her current keeper. By all means, he seemed perfectly human, unless you take into consideration his gravity defying hair. However, it was much more—much, much more. A member of the Saiyans, a warrior race. A _prince_ of a warrior race. 

She had listened, utterly entranced, as Vegeta told her of the pride and power of the Saiyans. He hadn't informed her much, telling her that she would learn everything eventually, and left her hanging by a thread. It took all her willpower not to whine and beg for him to tell her _everything_. The Saiyans were the strongest race in the _universe_. That knowledge alone made Videl almost faint in exhilaration. 

Landing at the port also made her knees go weak from the knowledge that she was stepping on alien ground. Vegeta informed her of a short list of tasks they needed to accomplish while there. The most pressing of matters would be to get her new clothes. The Saiyan had refrained from doing too much physical training with the girl since no other clothing was available if they were to be badly damaged. Even so, with the vigorous ki training he had put her through was enough to have the worn leather falling apart on itself. 

Then the matter of trading some capsules for a healthy sum of intergalactic currency was also on top of the list. Though, as Vegeta had mused, killing off some rogue soldiers of the Cold Empire wouldn't be so bad either. There _was_ a brief confrontation before landing at the port. It seemed that ex-soldiers of the Empire had taken to operate the port as a private business. Announcing his arrival was quite the shocker. 

_"Identify yourself," came the crackling voice over the radio as the spiked ball shaped port came into view. Videl sat calmly in the co-pilot's chair, eyeing Vegeta's every move to learn as much as she could. The bright gleam in her blue eyes did betray the inner fire of anticipation and curiosity, though, she made sure not to outwardly show it too much._

_ "Vegeta," was all the flame-haired man said. That single word cast an unnatural silence over the air before loud rambunctious laughter filtered through._

_ "Vegeta? That traitor is rumored to be hiding on some small mud-ball far away from here. Now state your true identity before we blast you out of the sky."_

_ Videl actually felt a bit nervous at the threat. Well, nervous on what _Vegeta_ would do. In the three weeks with the man 24/7, it was clear to her Vegeta wasn't the type someone could taunt without losing a majority of their limbs or life. She was, however, quite surprised that Vegeta took a more diplomatic approach. It seemed he did opt to settle things without much fuss—even if he wouldn't be hesitant if violence _was_ the most non-fussy way._

_ Flicking on the video transmission, Vegeta bored his dark orbs into the surprised alien's golden brown face. "Vegeta," he repeated slowly, "prince of Saiyans."_

_ Clearly recognizing the infamous features of the Elite Saiyan, the alien visibly trembled before hastily granting them passage into their best port and sending out the best of their crew to tend to the ship while Vegeta and Videl were there. Turning off the radio, Vegeta sat back into his seat but not before sharing a quick humored smirk with Videl. They both were the type to be amused with cowardly weaklings._

"Girl," Vegeta called, snapping Videl out of her thoughts. "I'm leaving you for a while to trade off these capsules for credits. You see that crowd over there?" 

Videl nodded as she kept her attention on the loud gathering a few sections away from them. The relatively narrow hall expanded into an open metal dome illuminated with large overhead white neon lights in a honey-comb like pattern. In the middle of the section was an elevated ring where two small alienish—_children_ she had immediately noted—were fighting each other to the cheer and roar of the crowd. 

"Go make yourself useful and earn some credits." 

Before she could reply, the man spun on his heels and walked away, following the signs to the trading sector. Figuring that she might as well do what he said, she carefully made her way through the crowd to speculate just how well she could fare. It was just like how Vegeta said that few— if any at all— races of the universe have the knowledge of ki manipulation like the humans and Namekians. She closed her eyes briefly and scanned the un-hidden ki of the children fighters. The majority of their ki were higher than hers, though, not by much. She did have the high probability of winning. 

_Was it why he told me to earn the credits? That he was sure I could get them rather than saying something like 'try to earn'? He must have already sensed their ki… _If anything, it taught Videl to be completely aware of her surroundings at all times, always on the look out for hostile ki no matter where. 

The blue-eyed girl glanced upward at the signs before finding one with big bold letters that she barely made out to be "Registrations". Using her small frame to her advantage, she swiftly weaved through the big and smelly bodies of the cheering aliens to a long elevated registration booth where two figures in cloaks were lounging on elaborate leather chairs and monitoring the fights. There were four chairs but the right-most two were empty; she gave no thought to it, however, and boldly approached the two humanoid figures. 

"Excuse me?" 

Both figures kicked their feet off from the table and looked around before looking over the table and _down_ to find the short girl with a serious expression on her face. Glancing at each other—a movement Videl didn't miss—the one on the left decided to be the one to address her. 

"How may I abet you with my copious knowledge?" Came a male voice that perfectly articulated every word. Ignoring the fact that she had no clue to what "abet" and "copious" meant, Videl carried on. 

"I'm here to sign up for the matches." 

Both figures stared at her (at least she surmised so) before chuckling loudly. "That's f—ing hilarious, kid. You got credits on you?" the also male figure on the right asked. 

"Um… No." 

"Read the f—ing sign, kid," he said while jerking a thumb back behind him. Too short to see anything, Videl floated up—to the mild surprise of the two cloaked figures—and read the back-lit square board. Registration fees: 55 Cs. Winner of 3 consecutive matches: 200 Cs. Winner of 5 consecutive matches: 400 Cs. 

She floated back down, "I don't have any money on me at the moment. I'll gladly pay you back when I win, though." 

She was once again replied with chuckling, "A little girl like you? I can hardly even guess your f—ing race! What could a short little girl like you possibly f—ing do? Maybe when you're older and talle—HEY!" 

Without Videl noticing, two other cloaked figures came out from the sliding doors on the right of the board sign and hade swiftly smacked the cursing man upside the head. It was then Videl noticed something that had been nagging her. She couldn't feel their ki; zero, nihil, it was like they weren't there. _Ki users?? Even from this distance I can't feel a shred of ki!_

"We heard the whole thing from inside. Picking on five-footers and below again, eh, dear _friend_?" 

"Not to mention using such foul language on the children. We knew we shouldn't have left you guys to guard the booth while we made drinks." 

"I didn't actively participate in the animadversion, so I must be excluded from the castigation," the first male pointed out before sinking wordlessly back into his seat as, Videl assumed, the two female figures glared him down. 

"Anyway," the first female started before turning to Videl along with her friend, "I'm curious to see her fight. Ever since we opened up the 'Brat Bout', no females have entered. Give her a chance; she appears strong enough despite her size." 

"Now that you have mentioned it, from physiognomy, I can see what you mean. And you're right about the paucity of female combatants." Everyone pretended they knew what "physiognomy" and "paucity" meant. 

The second male snorted, "Whatever. Have your f—ing way." 

Videl was about to thank the two kind women when they leaned down over the counter and a stray of light briefly lit their features. Videl was absolutely floored. They appeared human, however, they were—no other words could describe them—stunningly beautiful. Too much so, that no way could they be human. She glanced at the other figures just as they tilted her way to have the light shine briefly upon them too. Again, she nearly choked at the devastatingly handsome features that would send any female imploding on sight. 

"What's your name, girl?" The second female asked. If Videl wasn't still distracted by their blinding beauty, she would have felt her skin crawl from the oddly disturbing tone in the woman's voice. 

"V-Vi-Videl, ma'am." 

"Here," the first female handed her a clipboard like screen and a cordless steel pen-shaped rod, "write your name in the first row and press your right thumb on the box to the right of your name." 

Videl did as told, finishing her name in the universal script with a flourish and pressing her thumb to the highlighted box. The screen flashed a moment before the words "_Registration Complete. Thank you_" greeted her. 

"Alrighty then, go kick some male butt! Your name will be called when your turn is up. You win when you knock an opponent out of the ring, make them give up, or knock them unconscious. Death is an automatic disqualifying action, though, be warned that even some children wouldn't hesitate to do so." 

Musing at the similarities of the competition with Budokai rules, Videl bowed her thanks and went off to the corner where others awaited their turn. As soon as she was out of sight, the two females sank into their leather chairs as the second female started laughing a laugh reserved for demented mad scientists. 

"This should be amusing."   


* * *

  
"I'm going to beat you all little kiddies from Ceramica to Gaseon!!" 

"No, I'M going to win! MY father is the greatest warrior on our planet! And the Pepputians are a strong race!!" 

"Well, MY father is the general of the Languine army! We're the strongest in the UNIVERSE!" 

"Hah! Not as powerful as the Lunarians!!! You'll all fall under my fist!" 

"Well, me and my father can beat ALL of you and your fathers! Many of our race, the Sicmuian, are hand picked to be the Elites of the Cold Empire!" 

Videl softly snorted, not taking in the probability of the other children's inhuman hearing. Immediately, various eyes and other visual receptors turned to glare at her. She glared back; not at all intimidated by the looks she was receiving. Her current guardian's glare was a hundred times more potent. 

"Well, well, what weakling planet are _you_ from, girlie?" the tall, gray, lanky boy from Sicmu sneered. Ar en Bee wasn't known for his kindness or modesty. 

"Yeah, probably some primitive civilization that got here from a stray meteor," a large, round boy with crevice riddled skin piped in. Deimos of Lunari made sure to wave his large concrete like fists at Videl for good measure. Pot of Ceramica took the opportunity to smirk arrogantly as did Barh-Nee of Pepput. Chiah Neeze of Langu folded his arms and gave his share of smirking and glaring. 

"Those who boast their power are merely distracting themselves from their weaknesses," Videl said coldly, eliciting indignant growls from all around. 

"That still doesn't answer the question, _weakling_. What stupid planet are you from, huh? And I bet your father is a small weakling like you too! In fact, he must be so DUMB that he entered you into this competition in the first place!" 

She was a child who knew the act of holding her temper—but pride was another thing. She eyed Ar en Bee with a look of pure ice before answering before she could stop herself. "You'd better not cross me. Those who oppose the Saiyans will die a painful death." 

"Saiyans?!" 

The reaction was instantaneous. The boys recoiled as if she was a poisonous snake before gathering their wits. "You lie!" Deimos accused, "The Saiyans were wiped out!" 

"Not the Prince of Saiyans, the Elite who had a hand in defeating Freeza. Not my _father_." As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she started kicking herself mentally. What in Kami's name did she _say_?? Vegeta's her _father_??? That she's _Saiyan_?? 

"W-where's your tail then?" 

"Cut it off during training." 

"Your father?" 

"Off trading." 

"B-but… No females… You're half-breed then?" 

"It doesn't matter." 

"I still say she's bluffing," Chiah cut in. 

Videl smirked, "I guess we'll just have to prove it in the ring then." 

She might have trouble since the boys had ki levels slightly over hers. However, as she waited on the sidelines for her turn, she found out she could actually detect who could use the ki expertly and who just used it as reinforcing physical attacks. The fighters who only used martial arts powered by ki had the feel of an erratic heartbeat. Those that flew and expelled ki blasts had smooth flowing ki that felt like her own and Vegeta's. It was clear, however, that she was the only one there that could hide and detect ki on her own. 

The boys all eyed her and cracked their knuckles as Videl went up to challenge the current two-time winner. The humanoid furry boy swung his arms around as Videl planned her strategy. From the crowd, a man looking remarkably like her opponent shouted out something about her "only number 5 reading" as he tapped a weird device on the left side of his face. 

The loud buzz signaled the start of the match and Videl dodged back three steps till she was in the corner of the ring. The boy smirked and lunged at her, figuring she had no where to go but back, only to find her gone and himself face down on the metal floor after a kick on the back of his head. Videl completed her half flight-half jump and waited for the next round with a smirk on her face. 

The boys fell one after another, some more easily than others. They mostly used brute force and almost every time underestimated her. If they had gone after her full-force, she might have lost after a short clash. But boys will be boys, and Videl took advantage of it all. Until Deimos's hulking figure came into view. 

He was virtually a big piece of solid rock. She also made the mistake of misjudging his speed. His fist came at her with such a velocity that she nearly got hit square on her chest if it wasn't for the ki boosted dodging at the last nanosecond. The wind from the missed hit actually ripped a piece off from her leather as she quickly rolled between his parted legs to distance herself from him. 

"I'll crush you!" He shouted at her, aiming fatal blows and generally demolishing the ring as she nimbly dodged his attacks trying to find an opening. "You little weakling!!" 

"Shut _UP_!!" She growled, aiming a powered kick at the back of his neck. To her horror, it had no effect whatsoever. Deimos grinned and grabbed her leg in her moment of surprise to slam her to the ground. She heard the audible crack in her ribs but knew it wasn't over as he pulled her back up to hang upside down in front of him. Blood dribbled down her lips but she still glared for all she's worth. 

"Saiyan, eh? More like the _Sissy_ians," the ugly boy taunted, getting cheering from the crowd and the boys in the "loser section". He tightened his grip on her leg and she gasped but didn't scream. She wouldn't give in. "Come on, _scream_, _beg_ for mercy! Saiyan…ppft, don't make me laugh!" 

The crowd jeered and laughed at her. Every remark cut deeper into the thin cord of her patience. Finally, she just snapped. She'll be damned if they were to call her weak again. If she'll lose again. She'll be strong. She'll be stronger than them all. 

She'll be a _Saiyan_. 

_ 'The Lunarians have big, pretty eyes,'_ was her last thought before pulling the upper half of herself up and bursting Deimos's right eye with a narrow beam of ki from her finger. His scream was inhumanly deep and she was slightly taken back before being dropped to the ground. Black liquid gushed forth between his thick fingers as he twisted around from the pain, all the while screaming and cursing in sync with the crowd's furious cries. 

"Mock me, would you?" She scoffed while darting forward once he was near enough to the edge of the ring, still disoriented from the blinding pain. "No one," she crouched down and gathered the ki in her hands, "I repeat, _no one_…" Once the average amount of ki was gathered, she straightened up and moved the white sphere to hover an inch from her raised left arm. 

"Mocks a Saiyan." 

The white blast impacted Deimos square on the chest with just the enough force to send him toppling over the ring to continue writhing on the cold, metal floor. She crossed her arms and smirked in a pose she'd frequently seen Vegeta do, ignoring the cursing coming from the crowd. 

The crowd was getting louder by the minute, and from the random voice that was coherent enough for her to catch, she realized that there had been some betting going on. It seemed she had angered many aliens who'd bet on Deimos not to mention the familes of those she'd defeated. In fact, she was actually starting to get nervous when some of them started to rise into the air. 

"She said she's the daughter of the Prince of Saiyans!" Ar en Bee's voice called out. Videl had the time to feel a bolt of anger go through her, wishing to bash Ar en Bee's loud mouth in back through his head. 

"Daughter of Vegeta? I'll enjoy crushing her…." Many of the aliens advanced and Videl knew she was in _serious_ trouble. From the corner of her eye, she could see the four cloaked figures still laid back in their chairs and watching intently—weren't they going to help her? 

The first one to reach her was the father of the furry boy she was first up against. Raising her arms to block his blow, she found it unnecessary as the device on his face started to beep loudly—bringing an abrupt halt in his flight. In fact, there was multiple beeping from every device in the section before they all simultaneously exploded. And it all happened in conjunction of Vegeta's sudden ki spike from above her. 

The aliens visibly trembled as they slowly backed away. Videl let a taunting grin crawl up her face and crossed her arms as Vegeta floated down to stand slightly in front of her with _his_ arm crossed. They made quite the intimidating picture. No doubt they were father and daughter. 

"What's this…" Vegeta drawled slowly, causing some aliens to jump at his voice, "that I hear about crushing my daughter?" The barely noticeable glance in her direction indicated he was aiming the question at her. 

Videl mentally winced. How long had Vegeta been there? How much of her lies had he heard? And she claimed to be _his_ daughter! Most definitely he would _not_ be happy. Oh well, she'd rather suffer in the GR rather than be humiliated in public—and she _knew_ Vegeta felt the same. 

"My opponents had been mocking you, _father_," the word felt weird on her lips but she couldn't deny the tang of pride when she said it, "that you were _dumb_ to enter me in the competition, that you were a _small_ _weakling_. I informed them of our race and they still dared to mock us. Apparently the crowd wasn't happy when I punished the Lunarian for his mistake." She glanced at the sobbing boy in his father's arms, blood still flowing freely from the pitch black socket his right orb used to be. Strange, she felt no remorse at all. 

"I see." Videl was infinitely relieved that Vegeta decided to play into the role. "Well then, what should we do with the rest of the rubbish?" 

Realizing that she was the holder of their destiny, the previous livid audience turned pleading eyes at her. She felt disgusted at the display. So quickly were they to become slobbering cowards; imagining the effort of punishing such pitiful creatures was an unsavory idea. She scoffed at the mass of life-forms, causing most of them to flinch in thinking she was going to give the command that will end their life, before speaking loud and clear. "They aren't worth the effort." 

Vegeta smirked and walked off the ring with her following close behind. The crowd parted to give them space, almost falling over on each other. The sensation of being respected—_feared_—was intoxicating for Videl. Aliens that could easily kill her and her species, falling over each other to give her space like she was a goddess—simply addictive. If this was a small taste of what power could bring, she wanted _all_ of it. Every single drop of power she could achieve—by any means necessary. 

"Videl!!" 

Reflexively catching the pouch of money, Videl turned to the registration booth where the first female had called her. "The bout is on us!" 

Videl smiled and waved good-bye. As she turned to walk away, her eyes landed on the boys who had boasted so loud earlier. Giving them a taste of their own arrogant smirk, she tried not to rub it in _too_ much. They withered under her blue orbs. 

"Brat, come on." 

"Yes, _father_." 

She called him that from then on.   


* * *

  
She twisted around awkwardly so that her back was facing the mirror in her quarters, eager to take in the whole of her new outfit. Her eyes ran swiftly up and down her form, marveling at her exquisite new wardrobe. She looked…just like Vegeta! Well, perhaps not _exactly_ like him, but close enough that even she had to do a double take in the mirror. 

He'd told her it was armor, and she believed him at first, eyes superficially taking in the suit he'd picked up at one of the many shops on F-209, though now she was starting to doubt him. _This_ was armor? When she though of armor, immediately visions of knights from medieval times sprang to mind, big clunking heaps of metal strapped onto the tiny body of a human, nearly impossible to maneuver in. And yet this armor seemed to protect her adequately while at the same time not restricting her movements in the least. On the contrary, it seemed to give uniformity to her motions, smoothed her form. 

After the fight at the arena, she'd taken her winnings and done a bit of shopping while Vegeta saw to the care of the ship, refueling it and such. First on her mind was, of course, more clothing. Her leather "clothes"—if they could even be called such—were literally falling apart even with the shoddy stitching she'd done to hold them together, so she needed something that could hold up better under Vegeta's rigorous training sessions. There were few shops with any ready-made clothing, so she stopped at one of the strange sewing shops dotting the marketplace. With so many different species visiting the small port, it was useless to stock merely one body shape clothes if you wanted to sell anything. So most vendors, skilled sewers as well, simply took measurements of the customer and fashioned the outfits in under an hour. By this method, Videl found herself with an adequate wardrobe fit for training in, and sent them back to the ship while she browsed a bit more. It was, after all, her first time on an alien station—the first time _any_ human had been beyond the moon! Her chest swelled with pride in her race, then just as quickly deflated. 

Human… Her eyes dropped to the ground. _Only_ human… nothing more, nothing less, than a weak human. That's what he'd said… her father—her _Saiyan_ father. Vegeta. He was powerful… _so_ powerful… even in the short time she'd spent 'training' with him (or more accurately getting the crap beat out of her while she tried to grasp basic ki maneuvers) she could tell he was _strong_. Yet it wasn't the type of strength one would usually think of. He had muscles, but they weren't overly showy or bulging, and his height certainly wasn't intimidating anyone. But it almost seemed to _flow_ from him… an aura of silent power that anyone paying the slightest attention could notice. 

_She_ noticed. She wanted that power. But she was only human. 

She stared into the mirror again, fingering her long black tresses, now hanging over halfway down her back. It really was too long, she realized, though Vegeta hadn't said anything. It'd been particularly annoying in the ring earlier, flying into her face the few times she was knocked to the ground by her opponents. It clung adhesively to her sweaty face, and she'd wasted precious seconds sweeping it from in front of her eyes. 

Narrowing her gaze at the reflection, she gripped the long tresses as if she was pulling it up into a ponytail, grasping the hair tightly in both hands. Her eyes slid shut in concentration as she tightened her grip and flooded her palms with energy, and the nauseating scent of burning hair quickly filled her small room. Her eyes shot back open, and her hands fell back to her sides as she watched the severed black strands sink soundlessly to the floor in a heap. She gave her head a single great shake, tousling it into an unkempt mess reminiscent of her father's. 

"Nice…" was all she said.   


* * *

  
"Don't think of them as sentient beings—_you_ are all that there is. Either _you_… or _them_. If you wish to progress, girl, then this is something you will come not only to tolerate, but to enjoy. They are _food_, and that is all. Not human, not Saiyan, do not even look upon them as living—in your mind, they should already be dead; it will make the kill much easier…" Vegeta's rough voice was low and ragged, and Videl had to strain to catch his every word. 

Where they were now, she knew not; they'd been traveling for months now, and wherever this planet was, she felt safe in assuming it was nowhere near that swirling blue planet she'd spent a former life on… for that's what it was now: A former life. She had died and been reincarnated, from Videl the puny, weak human girl, to Videl the puny, weak, but _potentially_ strong Saiyan. Her human father was her past, her Saiyan father her present. What lay in the future? Her first kill, apparently… 

At first, she'd been squeamish at the idea of ingesting raw meat as she'd seen Vegeta do, blood slowly oozing through the fingers of his perfect white glove and never seeming to stain—for that was all he ate when stopping by planets Freeza's troops hadn't got the chance of purging yet. Though their ship was adequately stocked with freeze dried foods from various ports, he "loved the thrill of the hunt," as he put it, and assured her that she would soon come to cherish it in the same primal and sensual way as he. That time was now. 

She peered through the tall grass into a clearing, to which Vegeta was pointing now and gazed benignly, almost curiously, on her victim. "A young one, not hardly older than you, proportionally—you will be more than a match for it, human though you may be." Her gaze froze as she took in the being before her, which was blissfully unaware of its stalkers. 

Humanoid in body shape, no doubt from convergent evolution, as the planet's environment bore striking similarity to the Earth's. She would compare them to the Saiyans, most nearly, from what she could see. A decidedly feline bone structure, delicate, yet reinforced at the legs, which bent backwards at the knee. Wide face, small pointed ears, and a thin veiling of fur which stretched from the nape of the neck down the back, spiraling down into a tail at the base of the spine—yes, _very_ much like Saiyans. 

Yet she mustn't look upon this… this, _thing_ before her as any living thing, he'd said. Though it may _look_ like a child half her age… it _wasn't_, she had to remind herself. 

Vegeta looked over at his protégé, eyes calculating her thoughts as she studied her prey, gaze darting to and fro as she surveyed her hunting environment—yes, he'd taught her, this much at least, well. Unconsciously, his mind wandered back to _his_ first hunt under the guidance of one of the Saiyan army's captains—his own father couldn't be bothered with such an outdated ritual as the Hunt. Perhaps, though, it was more of a blessing that the elder militaristic Saiyan had carted the boy off to an appropriate planet—he would never tell the girl, but it had been _this _planet, in fact—rather than his simpering father. 

Yes, he was an adept ruler over their warrior race, with a cold fist, but King Vegeta was more favorable towards bringing their species _forward_ in time, embracing technology and abandoning the old rituals left over from generations past, the Hunt numbering as one of said rituals. The young prince had nearly resorted to _begging_ his father to allow him to participate in a hunt, disguising his request as a "scouting mission" to the small planet he and the human girl were situated on now. The king had agreed, sending the captain along as well, as a precautionary measure. 

Was this why he'd returned here with this girl, now? To relive old memories, to instill them in her? Was he trying to live vicariously through this… this _human_? He was the father she'd never had, the one she'd always wanted—she actually revered him on a level he'd never revered his own father. 

"Go on, girl." He suppressed a slight upward twitch of his lips, fearing it might turn into a smile—she hesitated not a bit at his order, slinking away through the grass, maneuvering around her prey. 

The legs… she would have to watch out for the legs—they were obviously well equipped for lashing out at anything that happened to sneak up on it. That ruled out an attack from behind or from the sides—head on was one of her two choices left. The other was an aerial attack. How easy it would be, she contemplated, to simply take to the sky, well away from the beast below, and fire a moderate blast at it—even a _moderate_ blast would be, she assumed, enough to reduce it to a pile of glowing cinders. 

But, she gave a low growl; her father had strictly prohibited her from using blasts of any sort. If he caught her using ki that way on the Hunt, he threatened, she'd be prohibited from training with him in the ship's gravity chamber for two weeks. The point, he tried to stress, was not to merely _kill_, but to ingest the flesh raw. They could kill the beasts any time they wanted—the object was to catch them for _food_. No blasts allowed. 

She'd be far too tempted, she knew, to toss a beam or ball of energy at it if she took to the sky at the beginning of her attack, so she resigned herself to a frontal attack and moved into position. _'Father's watching…I have to do well…'_ She struggled to remember how she'd seen him do it so many times, how he'd get within a few feet of his prey and simply _pounce_ on it, catching it completely off guard. 

She erected a veil-like ki barrier around her form which muffled the sound of her approach, though it could not mask the slight ruffling of the tall grass around her and she had to make sure she moved only when the wind blew so as not to tip off the… _whatever_ she was stalking. _'Knock it to the ground, knock it to the ground, snap the neck…watch out for the legs…'_ She reviewed every hunting tip Vegeta had given her in the all too short time she'd been with him—for he refused to train her more than teaching basic ki manipulation until she had passed the "initiation" among the traditional Saiyans: the Hunt. 

_ "It awakens and enhances the fighting instinct, feeding the primal urge of feasting on raw flesh," _he had told her early on, explaining the reasoning behind the Hunt. Apparently in ages past, in the dawn of the Saiyans' era, the Hunt had been carried out on local herds of wildlife before any sort of battle, and was—so he said—even practiced in recent times as well by Cold Empire Saiyan troops before purging a planet. If it had worked for so long, he saw no reason she shouldn't immerse herself in this aspect of his culture as well. In fact, the practice had attributed to the strength of the Saiyans; the nutrients found in alien races were rare and in most cases able to actively boost power. Many tales were told of whole planets inhabited by herds of beings that were able to grant instant unimaginable power to whoever consumed their flesh. Her father hadn't encountered such planets as of yet, but it would definitely be a goal in their travels to look forward to. 

She tested the air, giving a silent sniff; already her senses were heightening under her father's tutelage, and she found the creature's scent quite easily among the other foreign odors floating in the planet's air. Sweaty, dirty, so _animal_ that she actually found her mind wandering from considering it as a sentient being, taste buds watering slightly at the thought of the imminent feast. She licked her dry lips and crouched low, muscles taut, mentally counting down, _'Three…two…now!'_

If all went as planned, she would catch it completely off guard, knock it to the ground with lightning celerity, and snap its frail neck even faster. 

At least, that was if all went as planned, and as she should have known better than anyone, things seldom go exactly as planned. 

She _did_ catch it off guard, as hoped, but she hadn't counted on it having cat-like reflexes to go along with its cat-like features. She was still in the air, in mid-pounce, when it saw her, noted that she was a threat, and crouched into a defensive position. Had she been in control of her wits, she might have realized what had happened in time to halt her descent upon the prey and regroup to the air, possibly firing her body back at it like a missile from a decent height. 

Except she _wasn't_ thinking—this was, after all, only her first hunt. She didn't have the battle experience her father had, nor the ability to make snap decisions in times of intense stress, such as this. And it was this lack of ability which sent her hurtling to the ground after launching herself at a prey which was more than prepared for her arrival by now. 

Where she had expected to knock it to the ground, _it_ knocked _her_ to the ground, wrapping its long and deceptively muscular arms around her, though it was nearly half her size. The two rolled along the ground for a few moments before coming to a rest with it situated in top of her chest, pounding fist after fist into her stomach relentlessly. In the back of her mind, though, she didn't blame the creature. Had their roles in the Hunt been reversed, she wouldn't hesitate to defend herself to the utmost of her ability. 

That didn't mean that she was going to take it, though. Stomach muscles cramping, she tossed the creature from its post atop her with an angry burst of ki, sending it sprawling to the ground a few yards away—it was back on its feet before it even touched the grass, and powering back towards her. She had only the time to shakily get back to her feet and look up to see a brown blur coming towards her. After that she didn't really note much of anything as her jaw snapped wildly backwards from a fist fired at her face. The creature followed her back, grinding more punches into her abdomen and chest before finally slamming her to the ground again and rolling her onto her stomach. 

As before, it sat on her back and grasped her arms from her sides, yanking the limbs upwards and pulling them together, struggling to make the wrists meet—not a natural thing for human arms to do. Videl registered the cracking of her bones along with the tearing of ligaments in a feral scream, one which would have looked quite unsettling coming from the mouth of a ten year old human girl. 

Why… why wasn't it _running_? Why was it still here, why hadn't it _fled_?! _Father…Father, you lied! You told me it wasn't sentient…you said it was just food…but food would have run, food wouldn't stay and fight! You didn't tell me…you lied…you didn't say it was a warrior race…_

She knew he was out there, knew even now, as the beast on her back was literally tearing her arms from their sockets, as it crushed its elbow into her back, effectively damaging it in numerous places, she knew he was watching this with mild indifference…why won't you save me, Father? _Why_?! 

Do I disgrace you? Are you ashamed of me now? Will you send me back there, Father, back to Earth? Will you take back anything and everything I've learned? Will you abandon me? Don't abandon me… like _he _abandoned me… keep me with you, _Father_… I promise I'll do better, I promise… 

Just don't leave me… _please_…   


* * *

  
"Disgraceful." Fist to her face. "Absolutely appalling." Knee to her jaw. "_What a disgusting display_." Kick to her spine. "Never have I seen such a sad excuse for a Hunt…" 

Videl lay hunched over on her knees, trembling, hands steadying her body on the cold tiled floor. Sweat flowed mingled with blood from her newly received wounds down her limbs, pooling around her feet and palms as she heaved, coughing up more blood. Vegeta stood over the child, arms crossed on his chest, frowning disdainfully, and he lifted a foot to her chin to pull her gaze upward to his, as if he found it distasteful to even touch the quivering creature before him. 

As soon as she had slightly healed from the disastrous Hunt, Vegeta had slung the child from her bed into the gravity chamber and put her through the ringer, effectively canceling out any restoration she'd gone through since then. Her wounds reopened, her muscles—not fully recuperated from before—tore even further, and he was disgusted that she lacked the will to even defend against his punishing blows. Well, if the brat wouldn't block, the Saiyan prince saw no reason to stop—obviously she wanted more, and he was only too eager to deliver. 

"You understand why I'm doing this, don't you?" 

A tentative nod, and she averted her eyes, clutching a hand to her shaking abdomen, silently cursing her weakness under his gaze. He removed his foot, and turned on his heel headed back into his private area of the ship, the door closing with a _hiss_ behind him. She was all alone, again. 

Her first hunt had been a complete disaster—not for her having failed to kill her prey, but from her completely humiliating herself before her father. Her father… whom she would never disappoint were she able to avoid it. And yet she had—abominably. She was _glad_ he'd punished her so harshly; perhaps next time she wouldn't be so cocky in assessing her prey, so arrogant, so—so… _like him_. 

Yes, she realized with wide eyes—it was just what her father would have done, and she dared conjecture that, were he at her power level, he might have come out the worse in the battle with that creature back there as she had. She'd barely been traveling with him for a few months, but already her mind had matured as if she were years beyond her actual age, and she _watched_ Vegeta all the time, copying his every move, gaining his faults as well as his fortes, his weaknesses along with his strengths. 

The upside was that she was weak enough to realize that they were shortcomings early on, and was thus able to now correct them—something Vegeta seldom saw as there were few in the universe who posed anything of a threat to him. 

Well that was one mistake she would certainly never make again: No matter what it looks like on the outside, that means nothing of its power, positive or negative. Her prey appeared as a child, yet held power and reflexes which surpassed her own. On the other hand, there might be a being who appears great and powerful who actually has nearly no ki to speak of. 

If it looks like a child, walks like a child, talks like a child, but has the power level of Father, why not put forth the effort to squash it? 

Why not indeed… 

  


* * *

  
It was three weeks later, three full weeks after the disaster on Oberon-8, and Videl silently marveled at how quickly she'd healed. To her utter surprise the day following her punishment by Vegeta, he'd ordered her into one of the regen tanks they'd picked up back on F-209, and left her to heal for an hour. An _hour_—that was all it took. Granted her wounds weren't nearly so serious as to be life threatening since he _had_ given her some time to heal before the bout, but still… an hour. 

He hadn't spoken to her since then, his final words to her being, "Don't come out for an hour—and don't drip on the floor when you get out." She'd gotten use to the silent aura he projected—the one that said, "Speak to me at your own risk," so the three weeks of silence weren't anything she hadn't seen before nor would never see again. After all, they hardly ran into each other anyway, with the ship being so large. Vegeta mainly stayed in his room or the Gravity Room (usually the latter) while Videl confined herself to her own quarters, meditating daily while working on simple ki exercises he'd instilled in her. 

Simple ones, though, were all she could manage. As said before, he hadn't spoken to her since sending her to the regen tank, and that included barring her from training with him. He wasn't working her to death like before—he simply wasn't working her at _all_. She tried to convince herself it was simply because he was busy, perhaps he was nearing the "second level" he would mumble about sometimes when he thought she wasn't listening. 

But the more she tried to convince herself of this, the firmer her beliefs became that this all stemmed from the disgraceful act she'd put on during the Hunt. He'd sworn he wouldn't teach her anymore until she'd successfully killed, and it seemed he'd not been joking—who was she kidding, he _never _joked. She only marked it as a matter of time before he noted what little good she was serving on this ship now, and then he'd simply drop her off at the nearest space port to fend for herself. 

No, she corrected herself, he wouldn't wait for the nearest port, he'd just toss her out one of the airlocks. 

And she admitted she wouldn't be all that angry with him should he do that—she'd expected it by now. But that didn't mean she wasn't going to do something to right it all. One way or another, she'd redeem herself in his eyes, make it all okay. Somehow… 

  


* * *

  
Vegeta shot awake in his bed, breathing in short quick gasps as if he'd just come from an intense training session in the Gravity Room, eyes wide and white, his pupils tiny dots. He clutched the sheets wrapped like constricting snakes about him fiercely, soaking them in sweat as he struggled to calm his heart rate. Why… why had he woken so suddenly? Of what haunting scene had he been dreaming, that he woke so suddenly and fearfully from? Even now he couldn't remember, only that it had been something he'd dreamt before, something that plagued him nightly for a while now… but he couldn't give it a name or face, so it continued to harass him. 

Shaking his head to clear the sleep and remains of the dream away, his eye fell over to the control panel at his bedside. It was glowing with a gentle green backlight, a cooling fan whirring softly from somewhere inside the tower module; at the top of the panel words blinked rapidly across a screen in the universal script, marking relative speed, distance from known planets nearby, last port departed from, current port headed to… 

Wait—headed towards? His eyes narrowed, sweeping up and down the panel—someone was piloting the ship towards a port, to the Adolski Vale port to be more exact, according to the blinking green script. A faint clicking reached his ears though most of his senses were focused tightly on the control panel, and he whipped his head around for the source—a quick scan told him someone was in the main control room, while another pass alerted him to their identity. 

"Girl…" he called out suddenly but softly from the entryway to the bridge, and she gasped lightly as she whirled around to meet his gaze, eyes half-lidded with sleep. Apparently she'd forced herself awake in the middle of their sleep cycle so she might carry out this task without his knowledge. How fortunate he'd awoken when he had, otherwise he wouldn't have known of the girl's diversion for another few hours, when they would have nearly reached their destination. He pushed himself up from his post leaning against the door and stepped towards her, arms hanging limply at his sides rather than crossed over his chest as they usually were. "Just what did you think you were doing with my ship?" 

Her eyes fell to the floor, but he could tell she wasn't scared or ashamed—no, her breathing was even and paced, her heartbeat steady. She wasn't struggling for a lie to cover up the deed, but rather choosing how best to explain the action. She looked back up to him, not frowning, not smiling, but exuding determination from every pore, struggling to appear confident under his dark gaze. "I was setting it on a course for Adolski, sir," was a simple reply, though she knew perfectly well that wasn't what he'd been asking about. 

"And _why_ were you doing that, girl?" A frown edged its way onto his face at her impudent reply to his first question, and Videl knew she'd do well to properly answer this one. 

"I wish to hunt there," was her second simple reply, though this one fully explained her intentions, and the frown faded from his face, replaced by a blank slate—he had no response prepared for this answer. She continued. "I too am disgraced by what was unworthy to be called a 'first Hunt' and wish to make one more attempt on Adolski. I… I have researched its people these three weeks and believe they would make adequate prey." Vegeta didn't need her rundown on the inhabitants of the planet—he knew them well enough as the natural immunities which ran in the Adolskians' blood made them a favorite of many Hunting parties. Silently he commended her for the research, but his face remained blank. "I… I wish… if I fail at this hunt as well—if I do not succeed… I wish for you to kill me…" 

He raised a single eyebrow at the final statement, spoken in a very tiny voice, and he knew she'd only added it as a kind of throw-out to him, trying to make him see how serious she was in the endeavor, what lengths she would go to in order to gain his favor. She didn't want him to kill her, it was a bluff he'd seen and called many times before in subordinates trying to impress him. He stepped nearer and took her chin gently in one hand, forcing her to look him full in the face. "Oh don't worry, child…" His voice was smooth and cold, a tone he usually only took when speaking to those he was about to destroy. "I _will_ kill you should you fail again… but it won't be because you asked me to…" He released her and marched back to his room. He could still get a few more hours of sleep before they landed at Adolski. 

  


* * *

  
The port on Adolski's southernmost continent was bustling with nearly as much life and action as F-209, though not nearly as densely packed as the way station, which was saying something as F-209 hadn't been very crowded at all. It was obvious from first sight that the Adolskians were fond of open air and plenty of room to maneuver, as evident by the wide streets and distances between towns. There were few large cities, mostly restricted to pocket communities a few miles apart, consisting of family groups. They weren't primitive, by any means, but their civilization still had a few leaps and bounds to cover before anything beyond local space-flight was attempted. 

This was, perhaps, why many of the booths were situated right around the main gate to the port, ready to receive any weary travelers and take them for a few credits. Aliens of all sorts were welcome to the world, though few natives ever left, and the economy seemed to get by quite well through exports. 

Videl's attentions were diverted every few seconds as she traipsed along behind Vegeta through the wide streets, eyes shooting in every direction, goggling at the different species represented here. It was like F-209… only better! Her mentor, however, didn't seem to find anything all that interesting in the sights, and walked forward silently, never looking behind to be assured she was still there. She could tell, though, that he was all the while monitoring her ki and ensuring she was still a step behind him. Her eyes turned downward as she sank into "battle mode"—where she focused her thoughts on an upcoming spar or trial with Vegeta, except this time, it wouldn't merely be a spar: this was her _life_ on the line. He'd said he'd kill her, and she unhesitatingly believed he would. She'd seen it before, anyway—so why _should_ she doubt him? 

The crowds quickly dispersed as they reached the edge of the port. This was only a gathering place for vendors to greet travelers, not a city by any means, so after a few hundred yards or so, the kiosks disappeared, and nothing was left before them but miles of swaying yellow-brown grass under a pink-hued sky. When he stopped, she positioned herself at his side and looked forward as well. 

"Girl." He spoke the monosyllabic word in his usual rough tone, as if he were merely going to ask her to figure the coordinates for the next rest stop. She knew, though, that laced in that word was her own fate, and listened attentively to him now. He pointed a finger to a distant smoke plume on the horizon. "There. That is the settlement you will go to—it is where you will hunt. You will find two adult Adolskians and three whelps, you may hunt whichever you choose, but _hunt_." He lowered his arm and turned to look down upon her, eyes hard. "You will bring me back the heart of your prey as evidence of your success—though I won't need that to tell whether or not you've done as you've been ordered…" An unspoken warning to her… he would know if she lied to him, and the consequences of such a rash move were horrific to contemplate. 

"Go. I will wait back on the ship for your return—you have one hour." 

She gave a curt nod, then blasted off into the sky. 

  


* * *

  
Landing soundlessly in the branches of a great tree, she peeked through the leaves, well hidden, at her prey below. Two of the Adolskian children Vegeta had mentioned were grazing peacefully twenty feet away, while the third drank obliviously from the stream at the base of her tree. She slipped lithely to a lower branch, unnoticed, and took in her prey. 

Vastly different from her first attempt on Oberon-8, it was apparent the Adolski planet had no major predators to curb the evolution of so weak a creature. Short stubby legs facilitated grazing, and the noodle-like arms couldn't have fended off any serious attack. Yes, no predators—most likely killed off by the planet's wild diseases. So… that would have led to the evolution of such an efficient immune system. Well, their loss would be her gain now. 

The other two had moved even further away now, lounging lazily in a patch of tall grass while their sibling waded eagerly in the shallows. Videl leaned forward slightly, bracing herself against another branch, every muscle taught as a bowstring…   


* * *

  
An abrupt knock on the GR door interrupted Vegeta mid-punch, and he held the arm in mid-air, eyes still facing forward, but granted his interrupter entry. "What?" he barked when the door hissed closed again, and slowly turned, drawing his arms across his chest. Apparently the girl was back—standing this time, he noted, pleased. The two stared at each other for a moment, before Videl relented and extended an arm full in front of her, fist clenched tightly, what he assumed was blood slowly oozing through her fingers. She turned her hand palm up and uncovered what she held. 

"For you, Father." He allowed an eyebrow to rise in mild surprise as he beheld not one, but _three_ Adolskian child hearts, freshly ripped from the chest cavities of their young owners, one still rhythmically jerking, spewing small spurts of blood onto the tiled floor. He turned his disinterested eyes from the organs back to the girl. 

"I only wanted one." 

"…I got carried away," she drawled in retort after a moment, eyes still cold and hard, then cracked a tiny smile. Well, he mused, apparently she'd gotten over whatever qualms she'd had about killing before. 

"And what will you do with your little trinkets now?" he queried, cocking his head to the side, unable to hide his mild curiosity. She merely looked back at the small hearts, smiled, and one, two three—popped them into her mouth like candies, swallowing the lot of them in a single gulp. 

"Glad to see you'll be sticking around for a while, brat. Knew you'd come to your senses sooner or later." He turned on his heel and marched out the door to the main control room, prepping the ship for launch. 

"And miss training with my father?" she smiled, following suit. "Never." 

  


* * *

  
Her blue eyes blazed like smoldering pits, unblinking even when a drop of crimson life slid in and out, giving her the impression of weeping blood. She was defenseless; on knees upon nearly shattered legs. Blood and sweat that dripped all over her and tainting the floor would have been impressive if it weren't her own. Even so, broken and bleeding, the girl managed to defiantly hold her head up and glare. 

Vegeta kept his passive gaze; though, inside he was more than satisfied. His temper would always flare when they sparred—that her fragile human body would buckle too soon under his fist. He would curse the time he wasted on the puny girl, a weak female of her race. However, it was then, when after all the pain she could still hold her head up high without tears, when any other man would have passed out from the pain, that he truly was convinced she was all he expected her to be. 

"What?" he finally drawled. The girl opened her mouth to answer but was cut off as she coughed, blood specking the tile and lining her lips. The Saiyan indifferently watched as she swallowed down the pain and tried again, succeeding. 

"I can't. I can't be a Saiyan." 

A thick eyebrow rose and the girl saw it as a sign to explain herself. She finally broke her glare, almost timidly looking away to admire the crimson mosaic near her hands. "I... No matter how much I train I can't ever be a Saiyan. I'm human. I don't have the potential strength. I... I'm not Saiyan." 

He stared at the crown of her black head before stepping forward until his boots came into her view. She slowly tilted her head up, her orbs hard yet almost afraid, though willing to endure. This girl, this foolish, weak girl. 

"Fool," he hissed, making it come out more harsh than he intended it to and the girl flinched ever so slightly. "If you can't even convince yourself you're not human—how can you convince me? You willingly took my offer, followed me, swore to accept my every word. Yet you dare defy me by claiming for yourself what you can or cannot do? _I_ alone determine what you can or cannot do. _I _alone will determine if you cannot be a Saiyan. Once you stop thinking you're human maybe you can see that." 

Her eyes watered at the brim from the lecture and Vegeta snorted. "Never defy me again, girl. I have no time to waste on a human. A third class weakling like yourself I'm willing to endure." With that, he swiftly left, the doors closing behind him and leaving the newly determined girl alone in her thoughts.   


* * *

  
Thus passed the next year and a half of the life of the girl Videl, no longer human, yet not quite Saiyan. An endless cycle of sleep, eat, train, played over and over before her eyes, though never settling into monotony. It was impossible for her to become bored with it all while she still lagged so far behind her father with respect to power. With so vast a chasm separating the two, she found no time to become bored with her regiment, especially since she was constantly learning new aspects to her attacks and defenses. He would observe her form, correct her if need be, then have her practice it on him in mock battles. 

Still, she had no idea where she stood; even though the scouters they'd picked up could accurately calculate her ki level, she had nothing to compare it to. What did the numbers mean to her except to gauge her improvement? Though Vegeta wouldn't admit it, she was drawing dangerously close to his own level from those years ago when he'd first arrived on earth—and he never _would_ admit for fear her head would swell with pride and he wouldn't be able to easily shove her out an airlock. 

Their supplies from their first stop at F-209 lasted some six months or so, and they found it necessary to stop again to re-supply. As it had been more than that amount of time since their last stop, Vegeta had deemed it necessary to land again and reload once more. He ordered Videl to stay behind with the ship and see to it that everything was in order after it had been refueled, then to follow into the shabby diner with him. A curt nod was given, and he abandoned her for the sad excuse for a rest-stop diner. 

From one of the booths nearest the pump station Vegeta watched her order the skittish aliens around, grinning inwardly as her mouth opened wide—no doubt about to belt out a castigation—at a worker who'd tripped over the hose attached to the ship, spraying fuel everywhere and nearly soaking her. 

Twelve years old… a twelve-year-old human girl chastising in thunderous tones a rest-stop worker light-years from her Earth. It was almost laughable that this was how he'd spent the last two years of his life—but it wasn't like it was all for nothing, after all. And yet everything he'd worked to attain was beginning to fall apart. 

The girl was nearly at her limit. 

No matter how hard he pounded into her head that she was _not_ human, that she _was_ a Saiyan, merely a lowly third-class warrior, it didn't change the fact that she was still the same on the inside—as human as… as anyone on Earth. She didn't have the ability to adapt as he did, to get stronger after a hard battle. She couldn't transform into any higher level like a Super Saiyan, no amount of training would change that. But she still wasn't strong enough to… to accomplish his purposes. 

Wasted. Two whole years wasted in space with a weak human girl. A weak human girl he'd _thought_ might serve some use for him… but apparently he was wrong. She was probably the most powerful of her species' gender, but it still wasn't enough. Her ki couldn't go much higher than it already was. Her bones getting brittle from too many breaks—despite the healing powers of the regen tank. Her battered flesh also slowly, but noticeably, degrading after reaching the limit it could endure repeated damage and healing. 

He hadn't told her yet. Why? Perhaps he was waiting for her to make the deduction herself… to come up to him after a training session one day and ask, "Why? Why can't I get stronger, Father?" _Father_… 

Why he still let her call him that was beyond him at the moment. After all, it only served to tie him more closely to her, and that would only make it harder for him to… 

To move on. 

He'd give her a bit more time. Just a bit—but not much. If he truly had wasted all this time so far, he would need to get back on track soon, perhaps find a new partner. The Gravity Room worked wonders, but nothing beats a nice old-fashioned living challenger, one who could truly put Vegeta through his paces. 

Just a bit longer. Then he'd be rid of her if it became necessary. 

The bell over the front door jingled as Videl entered, eyes scanning the room as she searched out Vegeta, then spotted him over in a corner, staring blankly out the window at their ship. She walked over and informed him that the craft was refueled and awaiting his return, though all he returned was a, "Hmph," still staring outside. She shifted uneasily and was about to take a seat across from him when he stood abruptly and slid from the booth, headed out the door, with Videl following, slightly unsettled. 

He slung the door open and stepped through, bound for the ship, when he noticed the girl's ki suddenly stop, standing in place a few feet behind him. He turned abruptly—she'd never stopped behind him before—and eyed her. She was staring, curious, at a bulletin board posted near the door, fliers and business cards of all sorts attached, in hundreds of different languages. 

"Girl?" he spoke, "Are you coming, or should I rent your room out to someone else?" 

She merely pointed a finger at a scrap of paper attached to the upper right-hand corner of the board, nearly completely covered up by other notices and yellowing with age. He scoffed at her at first, before eyeing it more closely. His eyes narrowed as he read—it stood out from the others by being the only one written in the universal script. This wasn't some random note posted by the stellar cargo-haulers who frequented the café, it was something more important, something whoever had posted it had hoped the more… _cultured, _the more _wealthy_ might observe. 

"_'Selek Bone Reconstructive Surgery: Now Serving the North and East Quadrants'_," she read aloud, then shifted her gaze from the bold headline to the line below printed in smaller print. "_'Port 649, Selek; further information available on channel 44X.'_" 

  


* * *

  
"Stay here; do not follow me. I'll negotiate the terms for the procedure with them alone—I don't need you in there fouling things up." He shoved her into what she assumed was a chair (for she still wasn't sure about the Selek's anatomy and just what position they might find comfortable) and retreated through a door before her, tossing back, "You'll do well to start meditating, girl," shutting the hatch, accompanied by a clicking sound which could only have been a lock fastening. 

Her eyes were still wide from receiving the news—she had yet to adopt his skill of manipulating his facial features so as not to betray the emotions he was experiencing. 

_ "The reports you have heard are verifiable, that much is certain, and if you have the finances, then the procedure will be performed the instant your credit comes through—but, I don't believe you've been fully informed on all the delicate details of the matter_…_"_

After a very long-winded speech by the chief scientist of reconstructive surgery among the Seleks, there was much to consider with regards to the circumstances surrounding her state of health—she simply wasn't injured _enough_. Their precious technology wouldn't work on her, at least not unless her body was damaged seemingly beyond repair… 

She knew, though, better than most that such a trifling detail as this wouldn't stall her father in the least—it was simply another hurdle for the two of them to cross. He fully intended to go through with the procedure—or rather, to put _her_ through the procedure. But she couldn't get angry at him for subjecting her to this, no—she could _never_ be angry at him for this! She _wanted_ this, she _needed_ this. Her body… she cursed her human blood! Why, _why_ did she have to have reached her limit? Why couldn't she just keep going? Higher, higher, until she could hold her own against her father; that was her dream… but it could never become reality in this body, in this form. If only she could ascend to some other state, like Father when he shifted into the legend of his race, the Super Saiyan transformation—her body trembled when she contemplated his power… if only! 

But no, she was a mere human, and more than that, she was a human who'd reached the peak of her power—she had nowhere else to go… no more purpose in her life… At least, that was the conclusion she'd started to draw before they picked up the tidbit of information at the last refueling station; information about _Selek_. Well, they were here now, Vegeta was bargaining for the opportunity to have her bones reinforced, bargaining on _her_ behalf—why should she be anything but _grateful_ at this opportunity? Exactly, she _shouldn't_ be anything but grateful. After this, after the relative pain of the operation, she would be free to seek higher power levels, higher than any her race could even _dream_ of… and it was only pain, after all. 

She slid from the chair onto the hard floor, boosting herself into the air in a lotus position with a well-placed ki barrier, and closed her eyes, clearing her head. She had to focus on directing all feeling from her senses to her mind—she needed an anchor for her thoughts. That anchor came in the form of her father—her _Saiyan_ father, she had to be precise. 

She focused on how much she aspired to be like him, to be cold, detached, unmoved, unhurt. He was the epitome of all that she dreamed she might be someday—nothing could _ever_ hurt him, physically _or_ emotionally. He would never be hurt like _she_ had been hurt, and perhaps if she focused on becoming just like him enough, she might actually achieve it—that level of indifference she been fantasizing about for years… she wanted it _so_ badly. 

"Make me like you, Father…" she begged of no one. 

  


* * *

  
"So, you mean to go through with it, then, do you Saiyan? You feel confident your… _companion_ will agree to the terms?" Kiran, the head of the Selekian reconstructive surgery branch, questioned Vegeta once more, still trying to deter him. 

It didn't work in the least, and he merely returned a curt, "Yes, for the last time—if I have to repeat myself once more I may consider foregoing payment and simply resort to threatening you simpering cowards into performing the procedure." 

Kiran nodded solemnly, his grave face reflecting his reluctance to comply. He and his associates had made it quite clear that they would have no part in the pre-procedure ritual about to take place in the very lab they were standing in; their high morals would not allow them to condone them standing by while the Saiyan prince crushed the child's bones into dust—they would merely wait until he'd finished and "tidy up" by performing the restoration and enhancing technique. 

In a final effort to convince the alien in their midst to abort the procedure, they'd explained in no uncertain terms that _no_ pain-killing drugs would be supplied on their part—though they _could_ provide them, the Seleks hoped that the prospect of putting his "daughter" through so much unnecessary pain would be too much for Vegeta and he would immediately abandon the idea and leave their planet. 

However, they neglected to take into account the fact that Videl's pain played no part in his decision to have her undergo the process—if she wanted to get stronger, then she would simply bear it. If she didn't, well… the girl didn't need to know how close he'd come to actually disposing of her once she'd reached her limit. That was all in the past thanks to the Seleks' technology. 

Their technological might, though, was only surpassed by their pride, which prohibited them from offering sedatives to Vegeta anyway once they realized he still meant to go through with the process; better the girl be submitted to the torture of having her bones broken one by one while still conscious than for the Seleks to go back on their word. 

"Now," Vegeta began again sharply, "let's talk method of payment—I've got a nice model of a top-of-the-line Gravity Chamber I'd like to give you a tour of." 

  


* * *

  
"Close your eyes," was all he said, voice completely devoid of emotion. She was tempted to question why—why should she? Was there something she should fear? It was, after all, only pain—she'd felt pain before, she could cope with pain. 

But she did not ask, merely complied, and he thanked whatever gods were watching this display that she didn't. For he would have been forced to give his child—no, his _student_, he had to remind himself—the truth. That he didn't want her to see whatever twisted expression might cross his face as he carried out the task. 

He would try—_try_ being the key word—to keep his face neutral, to make it as swift as possible, but he feared the thrill he might get from grinding fist after fist into her soft flesh, reducing her bones to mere calcium powder. He didn't want her to see his eyes flashing in mirth as her face contorted into a muddled mass of bone and flesh… And when he crushed her skull… 

He knew the task would not be easy, and strong as he was, her body would put up quite the fight. Her ribs, femurs, and skull would not crush as easily as others', for she had trained under him, traveled around the universe with him… trusted him… she would not die as easily as those pitiful earthlings—at least, he hoped she wouldn't. 

And so, he said, "Close your eyes," and close them she did. 

For she was the obedient, strong, willful daughter he'd never had, while _he_ was the proud, strong, confident father _she'd_ never had. Her old father had been a joke in life, she though coldly, a feeble human posing as a great martial artist—when he was merely the least weak of the planet's population. Were he faced with her new father, her mentor, her idol, he would crumble under Vegeta's cold black stare. She felt she did well not to crumple under it herself. 

Where would he start? She wondered, forcedly relaxing her body. She knew if she tensed, it would only hurt more and take longer for the Saiyan to complete the job—and she knew also the reward that awaited them at the end. She would be stronger, _stronger_—strong enough to stand at his side, finally _worthy_. 

All she saw was black, darker than his eyes, and she futilely tried to divert her senses to her ears, her nose, her tongue, _anything_ but her skin—though she would never admit it, she was frightened, scared, and she silently prayed that Vegeta would not notice the tremor that ran through her body as he placed one gloved hand on her thigh, tracing a finger down her leg until her reached her right bootless foot. The katas… she tried to focus on her katas, the ones he had taught her to practice in times of intense stress… focus, _focus_… 

But she couldn't, for lurking in the back of her mind was still the fear…_ 'Don't hurt me… I don't want it to hurt again…'_

It was one thing to be hurt in battle; for there, you could see your enemy, see him clearly as he fired blast after blast, blow after blow, you could look into his eyes as he hurt you and _hate_. It was so easy… in battle. 

But this was no battle, he'd made her close her eyes; she couldn't hate him, and she couldn't get revenge for the pain he was about to put her through as she could get revenge on any other enemy. He was her mentor, her father—he would _never_ hurt her without reason… would he? 

She reflexively tensed at the faint pressure his hands exerted on her dainty foot—at least, faint at first. He squeezed a bit harder, then she felt him place his other hand upon her foot as well… harder. 

"Don't scream," he'd told her earlier, "Focus on the katas, and do not scream—it is demeaning for any warrior to yield to so base an instinct as voicing pain. The only yell I ever want to hear from you is one of triumph, am I understood?" Oh yes, she understood. She understood perfectly. 

Her eyes scrunched, and she felt a moan working its way up her throat… more pressure, and she heard rather than felt the muscles in her foot ripping as they were torn from the bones. In an effort to block the pain, she made herself focus on another, and clamped her teeth over the sensitive skin of the inside of her cheek. The harder he squeezed, the harder she pressed her jaw. 

Then, she heard the first snap—one bone broken. One… and already a fire was searing through her body; instincts told her to jerk away her leg, to relieve herself of this torture, but she just ignored it and pressed down even harder. Her attentions were jerked from tactile to gustatory sensation as a familiar taste flooded her mouth, nearly choking her as it made its way down her throat… blood. 

But the coppery-iron taste served only to distract her for a moment, when another crack pervaded her senses. But he couldn't just break the bones, oh no—he had to _crush_ them, or what good was the Selekian rebuilding technology? 

The technology was 'pasting' together the crushed fragments with a substance found nowhere else in the universe. It'll triple, even quadruple, the strength and durability of the bone it was subjected to. Videl's human bone composition was surprisingly compatible with the chemicals, so much that her bones will be _quintuple_ their original potential. To a _Saiyan_ skeletal strength and durability—with the potential to _increase_ in strength with every healed damage. 

The rubbery white chemical the Selekians called Noesb (after the inventor of the matter), actually grows stronger and more durable, to a hard rubber like quality than brittle, every time their molecules are broken. She will have bones able to sustain higher ki, higher assaults—just _stronger_ than any human could. 

Forcing herself to relent her assault on the inside of her cheek, she was now made to focus all thought again on Vegeta's work. Oh, it hurt… it _hurt_… 

But, mustn't cry. He said _never_ cry, and she would sooner strike herself down than disappoint him, he who had taken her in, who had taught her to strengthen herself, who had instilled in her soul a confidence never felt by a human before—the confidence which ran wild in the blood of a Saiyan. For this, she thanked him, and would bow to his slightest whim. Submit herself to the torture of having her bones crushed—by _him_—why not? She trusted his judgment that the ends would far compensate for the means. 

So then, where had this sudden spike of fear come from? 

Her mind was too clouded with pain, her thoughts too befuddled, and she couldn't even remember the first step of the kata now… he would be very angry with her when he found out about this… _very_ angry. That she should lose herself in the face of pain, it was unspeakable! She must rise above this, must cope as he'd coped. 

But, she needed… she needed _him_… he made her strong. It was her trust in him, her comfort on the security his strength provided, which gave _her_ strength. She needed to see, needed to see… 

She opened her eyes. 

To Be Continued…   


* * *

  
Ann's notes: SMOC!! How's _that_ for a smoc-y ending? Well, there's a whole lot of interaction between Vegeta and Videl we skipped out from—only to save for later gqoa flashbacks, mwhehehehe. Anyhoo, the Comic-Con 2003 Sage and I went to was a blast! Sage actually made a site from the photos she took and the doodles I made of our adventure there. I do actually prefer Sage NOT to show you guys because of the horrible mug-shot of me. (Noooo! I'm supposed to be STUNNINGLY BEAUTIFUL dammit!) Ooh, and kudos for Penchy-chan (fellow sister in the Evil Authoress clan) in guessing (nearly correct) who wrote which part! If you're familiar with mine and Sage's writing styles, it should be pretty clear who wrote what ^^ Special thanks for two devastatingly handsome guys, that let us taunt and mock them, in appearing *coughwithouttheirconsentcough* in this chapter. Get us 50 reviews, and the special is coming up!! 

Sage's notes: See? I did good this time, didn't I? I actually let you write your notes first, I _waited_! Yes, it was difficult… So apparently this thing is nearly Veritas length, how you people like THEM apples? And you might be interested to know that much of the first part (particularly the "father" scene) was discussed at Comic-con—we sacrificed precious minutes of browsing time for our loyal reviewers! The rest of the time was spent trying to figure out just HOW to pronounce "gqoa". And our first SMOC-worthy chapter! Is it worthy of a fic where Ann's a co-author? And since we all just love Ann SO much… www.geocities .com/angst_and_cliffhangers. I know everyone would LOVE to see our mugs… (And Ann, you better not delete that link when I send it to you!) 

(Ann: NOOOO!! NOOOOOO! HOW COULD YOU!?!? Blasted gqoa evil-ness!!! Remember everyone, that mug-shot is not a accurate representation of me—man, it's even worse then my driver's license….) 

_Glossary of Evil Terms:_

- _Gutter (gut-ter): Referring to the sanctuary of evil authoresses whenever they 'melt' into fan-girl puddles upon exposure to 'drool factors' or even certain suggestive innuendos. It has the initial appearance of a normal gutter found in big urban cities, however, the interior has been thoroughly refurbished with luxurious furniture—including entertainment systems and a mini bar. The term is also frequently used as an adjective, gutter-ish, for objects or situations that cause 'melting'._

**Evil Counter: 20**

**(despite popular belief, Evil Counter-chan actually counts the number of times 'evil' appears in the reviews—no matter the context. *evil grin*)**


	5. Review Special 1: Anniversary

_Notes: Well, I suppose this demands a bit of explanation before you read this ficlet. Now, this is the first of (hopefully) many review specials, and we certainly hope you enjoy it. It must be noted, however, that this special should have come in the middle of the last chapter, not after it as is implied by its being posted now. Why didn't we post part of the last chapter, then this, then posted more of the last chapter, you may ask? Well, it's all ANN's fault. Her and her incessant whining about smoc worthy endings to chapters… *sigh* It's enough to drive an evil authoress up the wall. So read, enjoy, and just remember, this is a special—so we can stick it anywhere we please!—sage_

Disclaimer: 2 words: Akira Toriyama's. 

__

_

* * *

_

Review Special: 

_Anniversary_

  
Videl stared at the small wrinkled calendar posted in the kitchen area of the ship with new intensity—it was coming, soon. She was nearing the end of her first year with Vegeta, three hundred-and-sixty-five days with her new father, away from her old home. 

She was surprised, she would readily admit, how quickly she'd become accustomed to her new life aboard their ship. How quickly she'd abandoned all ties with that little blue planet she'd left behind, how quickly she'd started calling her "savior" by the endearment "Father," how quickly she'd absorbed all the training and punishing and _everything_ Vegeta threw at her. 

She traced a single finger over the yellowing paper, water and blood spots spattered over it, and found her birthday circled in a scrawling hand—her _own_ hand. There were few marks on the calendar save the ones _she_ made, which left her wondering just why her father kept it on board anyway; as far as she knew, he tried his very best to forget he'd spent _any_ time on Earth. Why would he want a calendar reminding him of the passage of time on that far away planet? 

She shrugged it off, returning her thoughts to this date and her birthday—and the week or so separating them. Well, a week in Earth time, if she had kept her watch set correctly; time passed differently in the deeps of space than on any planet, yet still she liked _knowing_ what was going on. 

She hesitated to approach her father with the news that she was nearly one year older than when he'd taken her under his wing—he wasn't one to observe such niceties as a birthday party (and she actually might lose respect for him should he have done so), so she decided to forego an announcement. If he noticed, then he noticed; if not—well, she certainly wasn't going to remind him. Knowing him, he'd probably take it as an excuse that it was time to up her gravity training level… 

And so, the "days" passed after she'd realized how close she was to her birthday in Earth time much as they'd passed before—eat, fight, eat, fight, and occasionally sleep. Within a few days' time she'd completely forgotten the calendar and had reverted her focus back to training. 

Nothing terribly eventful happened, though, until Vegeta stopped the ship at a remote outpost near the remains of Old Namek—now a great meteor bed. Located between quadrants, the fueling station attracted all sorts of aliens, good, bad, and some just looking to quietly pass through with their cargo. It was actually more of an intergalactic diner than a decent fueling station, and Vegeta made it clear that they wouldn't be staying very long, so if she wanted any food she'd better hurry—he wouldn't hesitate to leave her stranded. 

They stepped into the dingy room, attracting practically _no_ attention—after all, they were just some left over vigilante troops from the fallen Cold Empire, nothing to get excited about—and made their way to the bar. While her father lounged in a chair, obviously bored out of his wits, Videl ordered something she hoped was edible, and the two waited while the aliens working the pumps refueled the ship. 

"…Vegeta?" a scruffy voice called from the opposite end of the bar, and Videl's attentions were the first directed towards the source, followed by the slow turning of her father's head. "…That you, Vegeta?" 

She recoiled slightly when her eyes came to rest on the blue-skinned multi-limbed alien who'd called out to her father as if he knew him. He was clad in armor that very much resembled the Saiyan's, though it was obviously older and considerably more worn in many places—his had seen more battle (either that, or he hadn't fared as well as Vegeta had; she suspected the latter). His squinty eyes widened as best they could, so far set back in his head were they, and he let out a great guffaw and waddled on his four legs over to the duo. "Vegeta, it _is_ you! I haven't seen you in…well, it's been _years_ since you were last treated at the Omega Station!" He slapped one of his six hands on her father's back—not a wise move, from the look of shock plastered on his face at the alien's bold move. "Still causing trouble for the Empire, eh?" 

Vegeta merely narrowed his eyes, disdainful, refusing to give the creature a reply, and turned back to Videl. "We're leaving, girl." She nodded and dropped her fork onto the plate she'd just been handed, tossing a few coins onto the tiled bar as payment. 

They were already out the door and halfway back to the ship before the same voice called them back, "Vegeta! Vegeta—hold it right there!" 

To her surprise, he _did _stop, turning to cast a sideways glance at the one who'd called him back—that alien again. Except now, standing at the flanks of the alien were several other beings of varying shapes and sizes, all clothed in the same armor as the one they'd met in the diner. A sly grin worked its way onto the blue face of the leader of the group. 

"You've been gone a long while, Vegeta… so long that a bounty's been placed on your head, _your highness_. And _I_ intend to collect that bounty—hard times lately, you know, no ill feelings." He turned to the guards at his side, motioning them to move in. 

"Arkos…well, I wouldn't have pegged you as the bounty hunting type. More of the sniveling lab technician type," the Saiyan prince sneered at the alien. 

"Times change, Vegeta—and as you can see, I've got plenty of men here to take care of you for me." 

Vegeta merely shook his head in mirth and turned to his daughter. "Up for a little fun before we get back on the ship? I can't promise you any suitable sport, but it should be interesting." Her eyes beamed, betraying her excitement, and she gave a curt nod, sliding into an attack position. 

Their attackers hesitated for only a moment, a bit surprised that their prey wasn't fleeing, but quickly regained their senses and blasted forward, with Arkos staying well out of the fight, cheering his men from the sides. 

Dust swirled around the battling aliens, blinding their progress from the sideliner's view for some five minutes, and every now and then he thought he saw a wild punch being thrown, or heard a yell of defeat, but nothing else until the mêlée was over. 

The thick dust settled back to the ground, and Arkos's three eyes grew wide at the carnage before him. His troops were in pieces—literally—strewn about in a smoking radius of fifteen feet from the battle zone. Vegeta smirked at his "friend," and Videl dusted imaginary dirt from her dainty hands, satisfied with her work. The Saiyan stepped over a few bodies, backing Arkos into a wall, trembling in terror. 

He wrapped one hand around the flabby blue neck and hissed, "Freeza has been dead for nearly five years, scum…just who did you think was going to pay your bounty?" Before the alien could stammer a reply—or scream one, for that matter—Vegeta had deftly snapped his windpipe in his grip, thick green blood oozing through his gloved fingers. He ripped a slab of flesh from the neck before letting the body slide to the ground and proceeded to devour it raw, turning to his daughter. 

"You should get some, too, girl. His race is known for its rapid healing ability," he spat out through mouthfuls, jerking a thumb back at the corpse. She nodded and breezed past him to the wall. While she ate her fill, Vegeta rifled through the smoking pile of Arkos's troops, searching for anything useful. Light reflecting from a glass surface caught his gaze soon enough, and he snatched a band from around the head of one of the troops, eyeing it intently, then smirked and grabbed another one. 

He wandered back over to his daughter, who was cleansing her hands of the gore, and held one out for her. She looked at it strangely, then cast a questioning glance up at her father. 

"A scouter—wear it whenever we dock from now on." He turned on his heel and headed back to the ship, and she turned the device over in her small hands, examining it intently. The crunch of gravel under his feet stopped after a moment, and she looked up again. He'd halted his return to the ship, but wasn't looking at her. 

"Happy Birthday, brat."   


* * *

_More notes_: Short, sweet, very "stand alone"-ish, we thought. What better place to stick it than as a review special? A little fun knowledge: This thing was actually typed up a LONG time ago, as a way for me to play around with their relationship and such—it mostly came about as a result of Ann's outline stating that, "Nearing the end of the 1st year would be Videl's birthday, she gets the scouter from Vegeta. Vegeta and Videl met up with some left over Cold Empire elite troops and easily dispose of them. Vegeta then decides to take the scouters anyway to make it easier for them to communicate" (Yes, there is an outline for this story. You can all pick your jaws up off the floor now). I saw that scene and knew it had to be typed out, and here it is! So, no evilness here, no angst, no tears, just fun fluff. See? I can do that kind of thing too…—sage 

_Even more notes_: I was gaping, simply stunned, when sage sent me this ficlet. The "awwww" factor was just—just—so REVIEW SPECIAL-ISH! And since I forgot to point out a couple of things in the last chapter, I'll do it here instead! Well, what's with all the flesh eating? I don't know about the anime, but in the manga, as some of you might recall, the first appearance of Vegeta (and Nappa) had them on a planet they yet finished purging. Well, Vegeta was munching on the arm of a downed defender of the planet—and it was obviously an intelligent being, armed and all. The simply _casual_ way he munched on it came to me as something he must have done frequently on other purging missions. Considering the Saiyans' rather predatory and primal character, eating other weaker beings (or just 'tasting' them when nothing else is around) seems quite plausible. We took artistic license and dramatized it to fit the "Minimal Gqoa Level", and of course we needed plausible way for Videl to become so strong. Don't worry about all your questions and the seemingly many plot-holes; we actually have an extensive plotline AND timeline, not to mention we're writing _backwards_. Yes, we've done something like Star Wars, only we _post_ it in a linear timeline. We've already written a lot of stuff when they returned to Earth before deciding that a linear plot would be more gqoa and smoc-y then just making multiple flashbacks. Hehehe… –Ann 

(About the question regarding why Vegeta chose to leave Trunks behind and take along Videl, I thought we tackled that matter quite extensively in the first two chapters or so. Trunks is a solid reminder of his 'weakness' (with Bulma) and a tie to humanity—a first son that is half-human. Naturally, Vegeta freaked out. Unlike the original story, Vegeta actually acted on that fear even after all he went through with Mirai Trunks. Videl reminded Vegeta of himself when he was a child, not to mention he needed someone to—oops, spoiler there.) 


End file.
